POEMS. 



BY 



FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE 



o n 



1 ' 



' ''' OfJ' 



BOSTON: 
TICKNOR AND FIELDS 



M DCCC LIX. 






Eatered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by 

TiCKNOR AND FlELBS, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



RIVERSIDE, Cambridge: 

PRINTED BT H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



/ s^ 



^ 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

ON BEING BLESSED BY A CHILD . 9 

LINES AFTER A SUMMER'S WALK 11 

LINES ON A YOUNG WOMAN 13 

LINES ON READING WITH DIFFICULTY SOME OF 

SCHILLER'S EARLY LOVE POEMS 15 

ODE WRITTEN FOR THE BERKSHIRE JUBILEE 17 

SONNET 25 

TO , 26 

SONNET WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE CAS- 
TLE AT HEIDELBERG 28 

ON A HOLLOW FRIENDSHIP 29 

EXPECTATION 30 

SONNET 31 

SONNET 32 

SONNET, 33 

FORSAKEN 34 

TO FRIENDS AT PARTING 36 

LINES , 37 

SONNET 39 

AN ANSWER 40 

WINTER . 41 

EXPOSTULATION 42 

SONNET 43 

SONNET 44 

LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE 45 



]V CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

MORNING BY THE SEASIDE 46 

NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE 48 

EVENING BY THE SEASIDE 52 

LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEA 54 

LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE 55 

ON THE PICTURE OF PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 56 

TO SHAKSPEARE 58 

TO SHAKSPEARE • • • 59 

TO SHAKSPEARE 60 

WRITTEN IN A DIARY 62 

THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD 63 

A LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS 75 

A REJECTED LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS 76 

A REJECTED LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS 77 

WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS 78 

WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS 8 ) 

PARTING 83 

TO WHO FELL FROM A PRECIPICE INTO A 

MOUNTAIN TORRENT 85 

A NOONDAY VISION 87 

LINES WRITTEN AT NIGHT 89 

VENICE 91 

TO MISS 93 

THE WIND 95 

EASTERN SUNSET 97 

FAREWELL TO ITALY 99 

THE RED INDIAN 101 

SONG 103 

LAMENT FOR ISRAEL 104 

TO 105 

A WISH 106 

A WISH 107 

SONG 108 



CONTENTS. V 

PAGE 

TO MRS. 110 

A spirit's voice 112 

TO THE DEAD 114 

TO 115 

SONG 116 

TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ 118 

THE minstrel's GRAVE 120 

ON A FORGET-ME-NOT, BROUGHT FROM SWITZER- 
LAND 122 

A WISH 123 

SONNET 1 24 

SONNET 125 

ON A MUSICAL BOX 126 

TO THE PICTURE OF A LADY 129 

FRAGMENT 130 

SONNET 133 

WRITTEN ON CRAMOND BEACH 134 

SONNET 136 

FRAGMENT 137 

SONNET 139 

SONNET 140 

A PROMISE J41 

A PROMISE 143 

SONNET 145 

TO 146 

SONNET : 147 

THE VISION OF LIFE 148 

SONNET, TO A LADY WHO WROTE UNDP:R MY LIKE- 
NESS • • • 152 

TO MY GUARDIAN ANGEL 153 

SONNET, SUGGESTED BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE 
OBSERVING THAT WE NEVER DREAM OF OUR- 
SELVES YOUNGER THAN WE ARE 154 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

SONNET 155 

TO THE SPRING ' 156 

TO THE NIGHTINGALE • 158 

SONNET 159 

TO 160 

woman's love lt)2 

TO MRS. 163 

AN ENTREATY • • • 165 

LINES FOR MUSIC 167 

THE PARTING 168 

TO • 169 

SONG 170 

FAITH 171 

TO A STAR 172 

SONNET • 1 74 

SONNET 175 

TO 176 

SONNET, WRITTEN AFTER A BALL 177 

IMPROMPTU, WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE 

SONNENBERG 1 78 

LINES, IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION 1 79 

LINES FOR MUSIC 181 

A FAREWELL 182 

IMPROMPTU 183 

TO A PICTURE 184 

SONNET • 185 

AN INVITATION 186 

SONG -. 188 

LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD 189 

SONNET 191 

A RETROSPECT 192 

AN INVOCATION 193 

A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON 195 



CONTENTS. vii 

PAGE 

LINES FOR MUSIC 198 

TO THE WISSAHICCON 199 

AN EVENING SONG 201 

THE DEATH-SONG • 203 

WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING WEST POINT 205 \ 

"'tis an old tale and OFTEN TOLD," 207 

FRAGMENT FROM AN EPISTLE 210 

AN APOLOGY 213 

WRITTEN AFTER SPENDING A DAY AT WEST POINT 215 

SONNET 217 

SONG 218 

TO MRS. DULANEY 220 

LINES ADDRESSED TO THE YOUNG GENTLEMEN LEAV- 
ING THE ACADEMY AT LENOX, MASS. 222 

THE PRAYER OF A LONELY HEART 226 

ABSENCE 229 

SONNET 231 

RETURN 232 

LINES WRITTEN IN LONDON • 234 

TO 235 

EPISTLE FROM THE RHINE. TO Y WITH A 

BOWL OF BOHEMIAN GLASS 237 

SONNET 242 

SONNET 243 

SONNET • 244 

ARRIVAL IN ROME 245 

IMPROMPTU 249 

LINES 250 

LIFE 251 

LINES ON THE ANIO AT TIVOLI 252 

siren's cave at TIVOLI 254 

Hadrian's villa 259 

the autumn cyclamen 262 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A ROOM IN THE VILLA TAVERNA 266 

THE LANDGRAFF 268 

THE FELLOWSHIP OF GENIUS 276 

SONNET 278 

# GENIUS AND LOVE • 279 

THE IDEAL 283 

PAST HOURS 284 

ON A SYMPHONY OF BEETHOVEN 285 

EVENING 286 

UPON A BRANCH OF FLOWERING ACACIA 287 

VERSES ON ROME 290 

DESPAIR 296 

SCRAPS 298 

CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI 299 

A SUMMONS 304 

TORRE NUOVO 307 

TO PIUS IX 309 

A VISION OF THE VATICAN 310 

DEPARTING • 312 



POEMS. 



ON BEING BLESSED BY A CHILD. 

The voice of cMldliood blessed me — and methought 

It sounded like a solemn echo caught 

Out of that world of hght where angels dwell, 

And sainted souls, who've bid this earth farewell. 

Over the tempest rising in my breast 

It fell, and lulled each stormy thought to rest ; 

Back to their bitter spring my tears were driven, 

And my soul rose, serene and strong, to Heaven. 

Prayer of the innocent ! thou wilt prevail 

With tenfold might, at that high throne of grace. 

Where e'en the cry of sin is of avail. 

And where the vilest suppliant finds a place. 

2 



10 ON BEING BLESSED BY A CHILD. 

I'll bear thee with me as a spell of power, 
To shield me in temptation's fiery hour, 
To cheer me, when with spirit worn and weary, 
I gaze upon the path I'm doom'd to tread ; 
To point beyond that path, so dark and dreary, 
To the bright bourne where all is finished. 
And, oh dear child ! who on life's threshold now 
Stand'st with thy late left heaven all round thee 

still, 
May He who sent thee to this world of woe 
Guide, and o'ershadow thee, through every ill. 
And lead thee home when the dark dream is 

o'er. 
As bright, as pure, more glorious than before ! 
So prayeth one, whose dawn was overcast. 
Whose scorching noon of life is long since past. 
Who waits the rising of a better day. 
And bears her burthen weeping on her way. 



LINES 

AFTER A summer's WALK, IN WHICH MY COMPANION 
BENT OVER A CLEAR SPRING WHICH GREW TURBID 
WITHOUT ANY APPARENT CAUSE. 

Serene and pure the fountain flowed, 

Reflecting heaven's holiest blue, 

When over it thine image bowed — 

And the clear water turbid grew. 

I saw no cloud upon thy brow, 

To darken o'er the bright wave's rest, 

Say, could it mirror, thinkest thou. 

Some evil hid within thy breast ? 

Were thy lips guileless, thy heart true, 

When by the fairy well they bent ? 

Whence came the darkness, then, that drew 

Its veil across the element ? 

Yet tell me not — by that lone well 

'Tis like we ne'er shall stand again, 



12 LINES AFTBK, A SUMMER'S WALK. 

Then let the troubled fountain's spell 
A mystery still to me remain. 
Let me not know what I should mourn, 
Distrust of joy, and doubt of thee, 
Nor this sweet summer day return 
Clouded upon my memory : 
For o'er the surface of my soul, 
Thine image too hath cast a shade, 
And stirred beyond my own control 
The depths, that make myself afraid. 



LINES 

ON A YOUNG WOMAN, WHO, AFTER A SHORT AND 
WRETCHED MARRIAGE, WENT MAD AND DIED. 

Weep not, ye dear ones ! for I am at rest ; 
Short was the season of my misery, 
'Tis past, and I am now among the blest, 
The blest for evermore — oh weep not ye ! 

Eemember how my happy childhood fled. 
Made bright by your fond love, and tender care ; 
Of the brief hours time numbered o'er my head 
Many were those of joy — few of despair. 

Think not of that sharp . torture that is past- 
Still I lay safe within my Father's arms. 
Even through that dark eclipse He held me fast. 
And bore me swiftly from all earthly harms. 

I waged with woe no long protracted strife, 
Nor dragged o'er disappointment's flinty path 



14 LINES ON A YOUNG WOMAN. 

Year after year my bleeding feet ; for Life 
Struck me but once — and gave me o'er to Death, 

Mine eyes were not put out by ceaseless tears 
Blinding them hour by hour, and day by day ; 
The hideous vision of my future years 
Scared them but once— and all was swept away. 

Happier than in my girlhood's early home, 
Fairer than in the form that then I wore. 
To God, my Father's mansions, am I come, 
To dwell in peace and joy for evermore. 

So think of me as at His feet I stand, 
Led thither through how short an agony. 
How brief a task-hour in Time's labor land 
For one who rests through all eternity. 

And weep not, weep not ! hither shall ye come, 
Soon as our Father calls — and find the love 
Whose precious root was in our mortal home, 
Immortal blooming in the realms above. 



LINES 

ON READING WITH DIFFICULTY SOME OF SCHILLER'S 
EARLY LOVE POEMS. 

When of thy loves, and happy heavenly dreams 
Of early life, oh Bard ! I strive to read, 
Thy foreign utterance a riddle seems, 
And hardly can I hold thy thought's bright 

thread. 
When of the maiden's guilt, the mother's woe. 
And the dark mystery of death and shame. 
Thou speakest — then thy terrible numbers flow 
As if the tongue we think in were the same. 
Ah wherefore ? but because all joy and love 
Speak unfamiliar, unknown words to me, 
A spirit of wishful wonder they may move. 
Dreams of what might — ^but yet shall never be. 
But the sharp cry of pain — the bitter moan 
Of trust deceived — the horrible despair 



16 ON BEADING SCHILLER'S LOVE POEMS, 

Of hope and love for ever overthrown — 
These strains of thine need no interpreter. 
Ah 'tis my native tongue ! and howsoe'er 
In foreign accents writ, that I did ne'er 
Or speak, or hear, a woman's agony 
Still utters a familiar voice to me. 



ODE 

WRITTEN FOR THE 22d OF AUGUST, 1834 — THE BERK- 
SHIRE JUBILEE. 

Darkness upon, the mountain and the vale — 
Forest and field are bathed in dewy sleep, 
And the night angels vigil o'er them keep. 
No sound, no motion ; over hill and dale, 
A calm and lovely Death seems to embrace 
Earth's fairest realms, and heaven's unmeasured 
space. * 

The dark wood slumbers; leaf, and branch, and 

bough. 
High feathery crest, and lowhest grassy blade ; 
All restless wandering wings are folded now. 
That swept the sky, and in the sunshine played. 
The lake's wild waves rest in their rocky bowl. 



18 ODE. 

Harmonious silence breathes from nature's soul, 
And night's wide star-sown wings brood o'er the 
whole. 

In the deep trance of the hushed universe 
The dark death-mystery doth man rehearse. 
Now for awhile, cease the swift thoughts to 

run 
From task to task — tired labor, overdone 
With lighter toil than that of brain or heart, 
In the sweet pause of outward Hfe takes part ; 
And hope, and fear, — desire, love, joy, and sor- 
row. 
Wait, 'neath sleep's downy wings, the coming 

morrow. 
Peace upon earth, profoundest peace in heaven. 
Praises the God of Peace, by whom 'tis given. 

But hark ! the woody depths of green 

Begin to stir, 
Light thrills of life creep fresh between 

Oak, beech, and fir — 



ODE. 19 

Faint rustling sounds of trembling leaves 

Whisper around, 
The world at waking slowly heaves 
A sigh profound. 
And showers of tears, Night gathered in her eyes, 
Fall from fair Nature's face as she doth rise. 

A ripple roughens on the lake. 
The cradled lilies shivering wake. 
Small crisping waves hft themselves up and 
break 
Along the laurelled shore ; 
And woods and waters, answering each other, 
make 
Silence no more. 

And lo ! the East turns pale — 
Night's dusky veil 

Thinner and thinner grows ; 
Till the bright morning star 
From hill to hill, afar. 

His fire glance throws. 



20 ODE. 

Gold streaks run through the sky, 
Higher, and yet more high. 

The glory streams — 
Flushes of rosy hue, 
Long lines of palest blue, 

And amber gleams. 
From the green valleys rise 
The silver mists like spray, 
Catch and give back the ray 
In opal dyes ; 
Light floods the sky, Hght pours upon the 

earth. 
In glorious light the joyful day takes birth. 

Hail to the day that brings ye home, 

Ye distant wand'rers from the mountain land ! 
Hail to the day that bids ye come 
Again upon your native hills to stand ! 
Hail, hail ! from rocky peak, 
And wood-embowered dale, 
A thousand voices welcome speak. 
Hail, home-turned pilgrims, hail ! 



ODE. 21 

Oh welcome ! from the meadow and the hill 

Glad greetings rise, 
From flowing river, and from bounding rill, 
Smooth sunny field, and gloomy wood-depth still, 
And the sharp thunder-splintered crag, that strikes 

Its rocky spikes, 

Into the skies ; 
Gray Lock, cloud-girdled, from his purple throne 

A shout of gladness sends. 
And up soft meadow slopes, a warbling tone 

The Housatonic blends. 

Welcome ye absent long, and distaint far ! 
Who from the roof-tree of your childhood turned. 
Have waged mid strangers life's relentless war. 
While at your hearts the ancient home-lpve 
burned. 

Ye that have ploughed the barren, briny foam. 
And reaped hard fortunes from the stormy sea, 
The golden grain-fields rippling round your home. 
Roll their ripe billows from fierce tempests free. 



22 ODE. 

Ye, from those western deadly blooming fields 
Where Pestilence in Plenty's bosom lies, 
The sterner rock-soil of your mountains yields 
Health's rosy blossoms, to these purer skies. 

And ye, who on the accursed southern plain, 
Barren, not fruitful, with the sweat of slaves. 
Have breathed awhile the tainted air in pain, 
'Mid human forms, their spirits living graves. 

Here fall the fetters — by his cottage door, 
Lord of the lordliest life, each peasant stands. 
Lifting to God, as did his sires of yore, 
A heart of love, and free laborious hands. 

On each bold granite peak, and forest crest. 
Each stony hill-path, and each lake's smooth 

shore. 
Blessings of noble exiled patriots rest,* 
Liberty's altars are they evermore. 

* Confalonieri, Foresti, and those who still survive them 
of the Italian patriots released from the fortress of Spiel- 



ODE. 23 

And on this air there lingers yet the tone 
Of those last sacred words to freedom given, 
The parting utterance of that holy one,* 
Whose spirit from these mountains rose to Heaven. 

Ye that have prospered, bearing hence with ye 
The virtues that command prosperity, 
To the green threshold of your youth oh come, 
And hang your trophies round your early home 

Ye that have suffered, and whose weary eyes 
Have turned with sadness to your happier years,. 
Come to the fountain of sweet memories. 
And by its healing waters dry your tears 

Ye that departed young, and old return, 

Ye who went forth with hope, and hopeless come, — 

berg by a sentence of banishment, were among the for- 
eigners who have found among the hills of Berkshire all 
that can best assist an exile to forget his home. 

* Dr. Channing's last public address was delivered in 
Lenox, where he spent part of the summer of the year 
in which he died. 



24 ODE. 

If still unquenclied within your hearts hath burned 
The sacred love and longing for your home — 
Hail, hail ! 
Bright hill and dale 

With mirth resound ; 
Join in the joyful strain, 
Ye have not wept in vain. 
The parted meet again. 
The lost are found ! 

i^nd may God guard thee, oh thou lovely land ! 
Evil, nor danger, nigh thy borders come ! 
Green towers of freedom may thy hills still stand. 
Still be thy valleys peace and virtue's home; 
The blessing of the stranger rest on thee, 
Unmoved ^s Heaven be thy prosperity ! 



SONNET. 

If in thy heart the spring of joy remains, 

All beauteous things, being reflected there, 

Most beautiful and joyful do appear ; 

But if that treasure hath been from thee ta'en,. 

If emptiness, and darkness, in thy heart 

Sit silent — ^from all nature doth depart 

Its joy and glory, and all beauty seems 

Hollow and strange. — The poet's noble dreams j 

The voice of music and of song, the sight 

Of evening shadows, and of morning light. 

Flowers, and bright faces— youth, and hope-, and 

love. 
Who hand in hand over life's threshold move 
Like conquerors to a triumph — all things fair, 
Shining upon thee darken thy despair. 



TO 



One after one, the shield, the sword, the spear, 

The panoply that I was wont to wear. 

My suit of proof, my wings that kept me free, 

These, full of trust, delivered I to thee. 

When, through all time, I swore that by thy side 

I would henceforward walk : — I since have tried, 

In hours of sadness, when my former life 

Shone on me through thick gathering clouds of 

strife. 
To wield my weapons bright, and wear again 
My maiden corslet and free wings — in vain 1 
My hands have lost their strength and skill — my 

breast. 
Beneath my mail throbs with a wild unrest ; 
My pinions trail upon the earth — my soul. 
Quails 'neath the heavy spell of thy control. 

(26) 



TO 



2T 



All that was living of my life seems fled, 

My mortal part alone is not yet dead. 

But since my nobler gifts have all been thine, 

Trophies, or sacrifices for thy shrine, 

Pierce not the breast that stripped itself for thee 

Of the fair means God gave it to be free ; 

Have yet some pity, and forbear to strike 

One without power to strive, or fly alike, 

Nor trample on a heart, which now must be 

Towards all defenceless— most of all towards thee. 



SONNET 

"WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE CASTLE AT 
HEIDELBERG. 

Weep'st thou to see the ruin and decay 
Which Time doth wreak upon earth's mighty 

things ? 
Temples of gods, and palaces of kings, 
Weep'st thou to see them crumbling all away ? 
Oh I could show thee such a woful ruin 
As doth surpass the worst of Time's undoing, 
A fortress strong of life, not wrecked by years, 
But overthrown by sighs, and sapped with tears ; 
A noble mansion, wherein youth did dwell. 
To which this palace were a lowly cell ; 
A goodly temple, in whose holiest shrine. 
Love had a worship hke himself divine ; 
And all these fabrics fair deserted be — 
A weed-grown heap, shimned even by memory. 

(28) 



ON A HOLLOW FRIENDSHIP. 

A BITTER cheat ! — and here at length it ends — 
And thou and I, who were to one another 
More closely knit than brother is to brother, 
Shall not be even as two common friends. 
Never again in our two hearts may grow 
The love whose root was bleeding torn away ; 
Sadly and darkly shall our spirits go, 
Companionless, through life's remaining way : 
What though still side by side — yet never more 
Each answering other, as they did before ; 
Lonelier by far, than those who ne'er have known 
Dear partnership of love such as we knew, 
Unpitied by our fellows, to whose view 
A seeming false must o'er our state be thrown — 
Thus shall we henceforth walk, together — yet 
alone. 

(29) 



EXPECTATION. 

Too bright the glance your wishes sent 

Into the future's day, 
Too sweet the trust on which you leant, 

Not to give way. 

Oh ever in this treacherous world. 
If you your peace would prize, 

Keep Expectation's quick wings furled. 
And veil Hope's eyes. 

Sad though it be to lose these gay 

Phantoms at least of bliss ; 
To watch them slowly fade away 

Is worse than this. 

(30) 



SONNET. 

What is my lady like ? thou fain would' st know— 
A rosj chaplet of fresh apple bloom, 
Bound with blue ribbon, lying on the snow : 
What is mj ladj like ? the violet gloom 
Of evening, with deep orange light below. 
She's like the noonday smell of a pine wood, 
She's like the sounding of a stormy flood, 
She's like a mountain-top high in the skies. 
To which the day its earhest light doth lend ; 
She's like a pleasant path without an end ; 
Like a strange secret, and a sweet surprise ; 
Like a sharp axe of doom, wreathed with blush 

roses, 
A casket full of gems whose key one loses ; 
Like a hard saying, wonderful and wise. 

(31) 



SONNET. 

Thou restless voice ! that wandering up and down 
These forest paths, where for this many a day, 
I come to dream the summer hours away — 
Mak'st answer to my voice with mocking tone, 
Echo ! thou air-born child of harmony, 
How oft in sunny field, or shadowy wood. 
By lone hill-side, or cavern-cradled flood, 
Have I held laughing converse, nymph, with thee. 
This is thy dwelling, and along the wide 
Oak-woven halls, that stretch on every side, 
Murmuring sweet lullabies, I hear thee stray. 
Hushing the dim-eyed Twilight, who all day. 
From searching sunbeams hid in these cool 

bowers. 
Sleeps on a bed of pale, night-blowing flowers. 

(32) 



SONNET. 

I KNOW that thou wilt read what here is writ, 

And yet not know that it is writ for thee ; 

To this cold page I have entrusted it, 

Which tells thee all, and jet is true to me. 

For oh ! this paper is not like my cheek, 

To blush, when o'er it thou shalt cast thine eye. 

These words can't falter, like the words I speak, 

With trembhng accents, still w^hen thou art nigh. 

Devoid of pity, doth this leaf receive 

The story of my sorrow and my love ; 

Yet while I trace the words, I half believe, 

That latent sympathy will in it move. 

All I would have thee learn, to teach to thee, 

And hold the rest in safest secrecy. 

m 



FORSAKEN. 

I STAND where thou hast stood, and I retrace 
Each look, each word, each gesture, and each 

tone. 
That marked thy speech, or Hghtened o'er thy 

face. 
And memory makes them o'er and o'er my own. 

I dream I hear thy voice — I start, and rise. 
And hsten, till my soul grows sick in vain, 
The wind flies laughing through the starry skies, 
And, save my throbbing heart, all's still again. 

I dream I see thy form — with eager clasp. 
My longing arms are round the phantom thrown. 
It fades, it withers, in my frantic grasp, 
I wake — I am alone — oh Heaven, alone ! 

(34) 



FORSAKEN. 35 

Oh wilt thou ne'er return ! can no one day 
Give back those blessed hours that fled so fast! 
My life is rolling dark and fleet away, 
The downward wave will ne'er bring back the past. 



TO FRIENDS AT PARTING. 

When the glad sun looks smiling from the skj, 
Upon each shadowy glen, and sunny height, 
And that you tread those well-known paths, 

where I 
Have strayed with you, do not forget me quite. 

When the warm hearth throws its bright glow 

around. 
On many a smiling cheek, and glance of light. 
And the gay laugh wakes with its silver sound 
The soul of mirth — do not forget me quite. 

You will not miss me : for with you remain 
Hearts fond and warm, and spirits young and 

bright ; 
'Tis but one word — " farewell," and all again 
Will seem the same, yet don't forget me quite. 

(36) 



LINES. 

In visions countless as the golden motes 
That dance upon the sun's earth-kissing beams, 
A phantom haunts my life, an image floats 
Through my day-thoughts, and through my mid- 
night dreams, 
Clothed in a thousand forms which fancy traces 
With quick creation, and as soon effaces. 
Sometimes, it slowly sweeps in silence by, 
Beneath some long Ionian colonnade, 
Through whose far vista I behold it fade. 
Girlish in form, in bearing sad and high. 
Sometimes, in some removed chamber lone, 
Where the sun's mellow radiance is thrown 
Around it, in a thousand varying hues, 
That melt and glow, it seems to sit and muse. 
Sometimes, upon a gray and stony shore, 
The lonely figure strays distractedly, 

(37) 



38 LINES. 

Or stands, and gazes the wide water o'er, 
Stretching its arms above the cruel sea. 
And all this while, I never see the face 
Of this close haunting shape, that follows me ; 
And vainly do I strive, and pray for grace. 
To know if what I think it is — it be. 
Then with an accent by despair made wild, 
I call aloud upon thy name, my child, 
And I behold thine eyes — and suddenly 
I'm in the dark of utter misery. 



SONNET. 

I KNOW a maiden with a laughing face. 
And springing feet hke wings ;-— the light that flies 
Forth from the radiant dancing of her eyes, 
Is full of mischievous and mirthful grace. 
I know a maiden you might scarce think fair 
The first time that across your path she past, 
And suddenly you would be fettered fast 
In the thick meshes of her chestnut hair, 
And in her floating motions gay and glad, 
And in the sparkling triumph of her mirth : 
Like summer rain-showers twinkling to the earth. 
Through sudden sun-gleams, when the sky is sad. 
When all the shrubberies rock in rustling glee. 
And clouds of blossoms fall from every tree. 

(39) 



AN ANSWER. 

Could I be sure that I should die 

The moment you had ceased to love me, 

I would not turn so fearfully 

From those fond vows with which you move me. 

Could I be sure, when passion's light 
Had faded from your eyes away. 
My own would close in endless night, 
I would not shun their dangerous ray. 

'Tis not your tenderness I dread. 
But that affection's drear decay ; 
Would fate indulgent strike me dead 
When its first glow of warmth was fled — 
I'd live and love you till that day. 

(40) 



WINTER. 

I SAW him on his throne far in the north 



Him we call Winter — picturing him ever, 

An aged carl, whose frame, with palsied shiver, 

Bows o'er the fierj element his foe : 

But him I saw was a stern god, whose brow 

Was crowned with jagged icicles, and forth 

From his keen sapphire eyes there shone a hght. 

Broad, glaring, pitilessly cold and bright. 

His breath like silver arrows pierced the air, 

The naked earth crouched shuddering at his feet. 

His finger on all flowing waters sweet 

Forbidding lay — motion nor sound was there : — 

Nature was frozen dead, — ^and still and slow, 

A winding-sheet fell o'er her body fair. 

Flaky and soft, from his wide wings of snow. 



EXPOSTULATION. 

What though the sun must set, and darkness 

come, 
Shall we turn coldly from the blessed light, 
And o'er the heavens call an earlier gloom, 
Because the longest day must end in night ? 
What though the golden summer flies so fast. 
Shall we neglect the rosy wreaths she brings. 
Because their blooming sweetness may not last, 
And winter comes apace with snowy wings ? 
What though this world be but the journeying 

land, 
Where those who love but meet to part agam ; 
Where, as we clasp in welcome friendship's hand. 
That greeting clasp becomes a parting strain: 
'Tis better to be blest for one short hour. 
Than never know dehght of love or joy, 
Friendship, or mirth, or happiness, or power, 
And all that Time creates, and must destroy. 

(42) 



SONNET. 

Thou who sitt'st listening to the midnight wind, 
Pale maiden moon ! 'tis said, that they who gaze 
Too long upon thj melancholy hght 
Are struck with madness, and that o'er their mind 
Thou shedd'st a mildew down, a withering blight 
If this were so, to some, thy barren rays 
Would be more welcome than the fruitful sun, 
To those who number none but happy days. 
If to be mad were to forget one's grief. 
Thy dewy finger-tips touching my brow 
Might to my misery bring such relief 
As misery such as mine can never know. 
Till my distracted thoughts shall cease to run 
From what once was— to all tHS^t must be now. 

(43) 



SONNET. 

Thou art to me like one, who in a dream 
Of pleasant fancies, is borne sleeping by 
The place, where a great treasure hid doth lie : 
Anon thou wilt awake, and thou'lt exclaim — 
" How was it that along this path I came. 
And left so great a treasure on my way ? 
I will make haste to seek it : " shalt thou say — 
And then, thou shalt re-measure thoughtfully 
The steps thou didst fly over in thy sleep ; 
But vainly shalt thou wander there, and weep. 
For while thou didst pass dreaming, careless, on. 
Another followed, and with digging deep, 
And diligent seeking, did the harvest reap 
That was held to thy hand — and thou would' st 
none. 

(44) 



LINES 

WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE. 

Oh Lesbian ! if thy faith were mine, 
Then might I in that summer sea 
Seek for a slumber sound as thine. 
Beneath thy rock of Leucady. 

But though the waves, with death's control, 
Might still the fever in each vein, 
Alas ! they cannot drown my soul. 
The citadel of all my pain. 

This weary, wretched, restless strife 
I cannot bear — I cannot flee ; — 
'Tis more than death — 'tis all of life — 
And parcel of Eternity. 

(45) 



MOENING 

BY THE SEASIDE. 

With these two kisses on thine eyes 

I melt thj sleep away — arise ! 

For look, my love, Phoebus his golden hand 

Hath laid upon the white mane of the sea, 

And springing from the fresh brine gloriously. 

He glances keen o'er the long level strand. 

Now come his horses up, all snorting fire, 

The lovely morning hours, hymning their choir 

Of triumph, circle round the royal sun. 

And the bright pageant of the day's begun. 

Come, let me lock in mine thy hand. 

Arid pace we with swift feet, this smooth and 

sparkling sand. 
See, how the swollen ridges of the waves 
Curl into crystal caves, 

(46) 



MORNING BY THE SEASIDE. 47 

Rising and rounding, 

Rolling, rebounding. 

Echoing, resounding,^ 
And running into curves of creamy spray, 
Mark, with white wavy lines, the far-indented 

bay. 
The little bark, that by the sheltering shore. 
Folded her wings, and rocked herself to sleep, 
Shakes out her pinions to the breeze once more. 
And like a swallow, dips, and skims the deep. 
Hail, welcome day ! hail miracle of Hght ! 
Hail, wondrous resurrection from the night! 
Hail, glorious earth ! hail ocean, fearful fair ! 
Hail ye sweet kisses of fresh morning air ! 
Hail thou ! my love, my life, my air, my light. 
Soul of my day ! my morning, noon, and night! 



NOONDAY 

BY THE SEASIDE. 

The sea has left the strand — 
In their deep sapphire cup 
The waves lie gathered up, 
Off the hard-ribbed sand. 

From each dark rocky brim, 
The full wine-tinted billows ebbed away, 

Leave on the golden rim 
Of their huge bowl, not one thin line of spray. 

Above the shor1>grassed downs all broidered over 
With scarlet pimpernel, and silver clover, 
Like spicy incense quivers the warm air. 

With piercing fervid heat. 

The noonday sunbeams beat. 
On the red granite sea-slabs, broad and bare. 

(48) 



NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE. 49 

And prone along the shore, 
Basking in the fierce glare, 
Lie sun-bronzed Titans, covered o'er 
With shaggy, sea-weed hair. 

Come in, under this vault of brownest shade. 

By sea-worn arches made, 
Where all the air, with a rich topaz light, 
Is darkly bright. 
'Neath these rock-folded canopies. 

Shadowy and cool, 
The crystal water lies 

In many a glassy pool. 
Whose green-veined sides, as they receive the 

light. 
Gleam like pale wells of precious malachite. 

In the warm shallow water dip thy feet, 
Gleaming like rose-hued pearls below the wave. 
And lying in this hollow, sea-smoothed seat. 
Gaze on the far-off white-sailed fisher fleet. 
Framed in the twilight portal of our cave ; 



50 NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE. 

While I lie here, and gaze on thee 

Fairer art thou to me 
Than Aphrodite, when the breathless deep 
Wafted her smiling in her rosy sleep, 
Towards the green-myrtled shore, that in de- 
light 
With starry fragrance, suddenly grew white. 

Or than the shuddering girl, 

Whose wide distended eyes. 

Glassy, with dread surprise. 

Saw the huge billow curl. 
Foaming and bristling, with its grisly freight ; 

While, twinkling from afar. 
With iris-feathered heels, and falchion bright, 
From the blue cope of heaven's dazzling height, 
Her lover swooped, a flashing noon-tide star. 

A mid-day dream hath hghted on thy brow. 

And gently bends it down ; thy fair eyes swim. 

In Hquid languor, lustreless and dim. 

And slowly dropping now. 

From the light loosened clasp of thy warm hand, 



NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE. 51 

Making a ruddy shadow on the sand, 

Falls a wine-perfumed rose, with crimson glow. 

Sleep my beloved ! while the sultry spell 
Of silent noon o'er sea and earth doth dwell : 
Stoop thy fair graceful head upon my breast. 
With its thick rolls of golden hair opprest, 
My Hly ! — and my breathing shall not sob 
With one tumultuous sigh — nor my heart throb 
With one irregular bound — that I may keep 
With tenderest watch, the treasure of thy sleep. 
Droop gently down, in slumb'rous, slow eclipse, 
Fair fringed lids ! beneath my seaHng lips. 



EVENING 

BY THE SEASIDE. 

The monsters of the deep do roar, 
And their huge manes upon the shore 
Plunge headlong, with a thundering sound. 
That shakes the hollow-hearted ground : 

And yet, amidst this din I hear 
Thj gentle voice close at mine ear, 
Whispering sweet words of love, that shake 
Mj soul with the soft sound they make. 

The cup of Heaven o'erflows with Hght, 
The sea's broad shield is burnished bright, 
And the whole earth doth glow and shine 
Like a red, radiant, evening shrine. 

(52) 



EVENING BY THE SEASIDE. 53» 

And in this splendor, all I see 
Are thy dear eyes beholding me, 
With such a tender, stedfast gaze, 
My life seems melting in their rays. 



LINES 

WRITTEN BY THE SEA. 

If tliou wert standing by yon tide, 
And I were standing by thy side, 
Methinks a death I could contrive, 
Pleasanter than the life I live. 
For I would lay me at thy feet, 
And like a snowy winding-sheet. 
The foaming fringes of the sea 
Should roll themselves all over me, . 
And draw me but a little way 
Into that cradle huge and gray. 
And rock me all so tenderly, 
And sing one sobbing lullaby. 
And then unwind their foldings deep. 
And lay me gently, fast asleep, 
At thy dear feet, where I would lie 
And sleep through all eternity. 

(54) 



LINES 

WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE, 

If I believed in death, how sweet a bed 

For such a blessed slumber could I find, 

Beneath the blue and sparkling coverlid 

Of that smooth sea, stirred by no breath of wind. 

Oh if I could but die, and be at rest, 

Thou smiling sea ! in thj slow-heaving breast. 

But all thj thousand waves quench not the spark 

Immortal, woful, of one human soul ; 

Under thy sapphire vault, cold, still, and. dark, 

Deep down, below where tides and tempests roll. 

The spirit may not lose its deeper curse. 

It finds no death in the whole universe. 

(55) 



" Poeta volontieri 
Parlerei a que' duo che' insieme vanno, 
E pajon si al vento esser leggieri." 

Dell' Inferno, Canto 5. 

Seer of the triple realm invisible, 
When I behold that miserable twain, 
By Rimini's sudden sword of justice slain. 
Sweep through the howling hurricane of hell — 
Light seems to me to rest upon their gloom, 
More than upon this wretched earth above. 
Falls on the path of many a living love. 
Whose fate may envy their united doom. 
There be, who wandering in this world, with heart 
Riveted to some other heart for ever, 
Past power of all eternity to sever. 
The current of this life still drives apart. 
Who, with strained eyes, and outstretched arms, 
and cry 

(56) 



ON THE PICTURE OF PAOLO AND FRANCESCA. 57 

Of bitterest longing, come each other nigh, 
To look, to love, and to be swept asunder. 
The breathless greeting of their agony 
Lost in the pitiless world-storm's ceaseless thun- 
der. 



TO SHAKSPEAKE. 

If from the height of that celestial sphere^ 
Where now thou dwell'st, spirit powerful and 

sweet ! 
Thou jet canst love the race that sojourn here, 
How must thou joy, with pleasure not unmeet 
For thy exalted state, to know how dear 
Thy memory is held throughout the earth. 
Beyond the favored land that gave thee birth. 
E'en in thy seat in Heaven, thou may'st receive 

Thanks, praise, and love, and wonder ever new, 

« 

From human hearts, who in thy verse perceive 
AH that humanity calls good, and true ; 
Nor dost thou for each mortal blemish grieve, 
They from thy glorious works have fall'n away, 
As from thy soul its outward form of clay. 

(58) 



TO SHAKSPEAKE. 

Oft, when mj lips I open to rehearse 
Thj wondrous spells of wisdom, and of power, 
And that my voice, and thy immortal verse, 
On listening ears, and hearts, I mingled pour, 
I shrink dismayed — and awful doth appear 
The vain presumption of my own weak deed ; 
Thy glorious spirit seems to mine so near. 
That suddenly I tremble as I read — 
Thee an invisible auditor I fear: 
Oh, if it might be so, my master dear ! 
With what beseeching would I pray to thee, 
To make me equal to my noble task, 
Succor from thee, how humbly would I ask, 
Thy worthiest works to utter worthily. 

(59) 



TO SHAKSPEARE. 

Shelter and succor such as common men 

Afford the weaker partners of their fate, 

Have I derived from thee — from thee, most 

great 
And powerful genius ! whose subhme control, 
Still from thy grave governs each human soul, 
That reads the wondrous records of thy pen. 
From sordid sorrows thou hast set me free, 
And turned from want's grim ways my tottering 

feet, 
And to sad empty hours, given royally, 
A labor, than all leisure far more sweet: 
The daily bread, for which we humbly pray, 
Thou gavest me as if I were thy child, 
And still with converse noble, wise, and mild. 
Charmed from despair my sinking soul away ; 

(60) 



TO SHAKSPEARE. 61 

Shall I not bless the need, to which was given 
Of all the angels in the host of heaven, 
Thee, for my guardian, spirit strong and bland ! 
Lord of the speech of my dear native land ! 



WRITTEN IN A DIARY. 

They who go down to the relentless deep, 
After long horrible death of cold and drought 
Ere the last spark of flickering life goes out, 
Give to the bitter waves that o'er them sweep. 
The secret of their agony to keep ; 
Hoping that when the never satiate sea. 
In its huge depths had swallowed them for ever. 
To human hands and eyes it shall dehver 
The record of their piteous misery. 
So I unto these pages do commend 
The story of my shipwreck dire for thee. 
Where thou shalt read, how long before the end, 
I strove, and clung, and prayed, and vainly cried. 
Trusting in thee and heaven, until I died. 

(62) 



THE WKECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD, 

A BRITISH TRANSPORT VESSEL LOST ON THE COAST OF 

AFRICA. 

A BALLAD. 

As well as I am able, I'll relate how it befell, 

And I trust, sirs, you'll excuse me, if I do not 
speak it well, 

I've lived a hard and wandering life, serving our 
gracious Queen, 

And have nigh forgot my schooling since a sol- 
dier I have been. 

But however in my untaught speech the tale I 

tell may thrive, 
I shall see the scene before me, to the latest 

day I hve ; 

(63) 



64 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 

And sometimes I have scarce the heart to thank 
God for saving me, 

When I think of my poor comrades, who went 
down in that dreadful sea, 

And my brother's drowning eyes and voice, as a 
monstrous swirling wave 

Rolled him right across my arms, 'twas his wind- 
ing sheet and grave — 

God forgive me ! but I wish he had been saved 
instead of me. 

He was a better, braver man, than ever I shall 
be. 

The night was still and silent, and the stars 
shone overhead. 

And all were sleeping in the ship, who in one 
hour were dead. 

A heavy swell was rolling in, upon the treach- 
erous shore. 

And the steersman steered off from the coast, 
four miles, and barely four. 



THE WRECK OP THE BIRKENHEAD. 65 

Six hundred sleeping souls relied, upon that 
helmsman's care, 

Poor wretch ! the sea has saved him from a ter- 
rible despair ! 

For in that still and starlight night, on that 
smooth and silent sea, 

He sent four hundred sleeping men straight to 
eternity, 

He drove the ship upon the rocks that stretch 
the waves beneath, 

It has been called Point Danger — ^it should be 
the Reef of Death. 

I was dreaming of old Scotland, the home of my 

boyish years, 
And the sound of the village bagpipe was droning 

in my ears ; 
And across the purple heath, behind a screen of 

fir and oak, 
I saw from our low chimney curl the silver blue 

peat smoke ; 



66 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 

My foot was on the door-stone, and mj hand was 

on the lock, 
And I heard my mother's voice within — ^when, 

suddenly, a shock 
Went shuddering through the whole ship's frame, 

and then a grinding sound, 
And the cry was heard above, below, " Back 

her ! she is aground ! " 
We heard the water rushing, whence or where 

we did not know. 
And every face was darkened with terror and 

with woe ; 

But our officers did all that brave gentlemen 

could do, 
< 

And the sailors did their duty, — they were a gal- 
lant crew! 

And we poor soldiers, too, sirs, I dare think, did 
all we could. 

We had thought to die upon dry land, not choke 
in the weltering flood. 

But steady, as if we had been on our old parad- 
ing ground, 



THE WRECK OF THE BIKKENHEAD. 67 

We stood till she went to pieces, — and the most 

of us were drowned. 
With the first shock the word was given to put 

the engine back, 
"For we saw, when the sea was sucked away, 

where the reef lay, bare and black, 
Right underneath the poor ship's prow, huge, 

hard, and without motion, 
Beneath the sweltering, seething surf, of the rest- 
less, rolling ocean ; 
And it was terrible to hear the engine heave and 

throb. 
Like the huge heart of a giant, with a sound 

like a heavy sob ; 
And it cast its shining arms aloft, and the wheels 

began to turn, 
And the mad waves flashed, and whirled, and 

hissed, as they felt the strong ship spurn. 
Another stroke, and we were off — but the black 

reef's stony teeth. 
Had bitten through her iron ribs, and the sea 

rushed in beneath. 



68 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 

And up and up, the water rose, fast, faster yet 

and Mgber, 
And leapt into our ship's warm heart, and danced 

above the fire, 
The shining arms fell motionless, and stopped the 

mighty breath. 
And the mad waves sucked us back again, into 

the jaws of death. 

Like horses plunging on the reef, we could see 
them through the dark, 

The flying of their wild white manes, made a long 
and shining mark, 

And beyond where the rolling blackness, ridge 
upon ridge was tost, 

Not four miles ofi", how near, and yet how dis- 
tant! was the coast. 

And now there came another shock, with a hid- 
eous crashing sound. 

The ship broke right in half — and whirling madly 
round and round. 



THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 69 

Half was sucked down before our eyes, and the 

water far and near, 
Was strewed with hapless, helpless men, whose cries 

of pain and fear 
Drove us wild with terror and with grief, as we 

stood upon the wreck, 
The shivering, shattered, slippery planks, of that 

miserable deck. 

Our wives and children m the boats had been 

lowered from the side. 
And through the dark we heard them, as their 

wild farewells thej cried ; 
And many a brave man's heart grew sick, as 

silently he stood, 
And heard those bitter wailings rise and sink with 

the heaving flood : . 
But not one foot was stirred, and not one hand 

was raised to fly, 
We were bid to stand there on that deck — and 

we stood still there to die. 



70 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 

At length word of command was given : " Save 

yourselves all who can," 
And then, and not till then, away broke every 

boy and man, 
When a loud voice, like an angel's, rose above 

the infernal din, 
" Don't swamp your wives and children, hold 

back, if you are men ! " 
We looked into each other's eyes — the boats put 

off to shore — 
And suddenly above my head I felt the billows 

pour. 

I threw my arms abroad to swim — and found that 

they were cast 
(Lord what a gripe I closed them with !) around 

our gallant mast : 
As up the blessed shaft I clomb, shouting in 

frenzied glee. 
The mad waves' thundering voices seemed to call 

alone for me ; 



THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 71 

But along the high main-topsail yard I climbed, 

and crawled, and clung. 
And out into the empty night, over the sea I 

swung ; 
And others followed in the dark, that fearful, 

slippery way. 
And there we held, and hung, and prayed, for 

the dear light of day ; 
And pray you, sirs, that never you may count 

such hideous hours. 
Or know the agony and dread of those speechless 

prayers of ours. 

All in a heap our hmbs were twined, holding by 

one another, 
And one man clutched my right arm fast, alas ! 

'twas not my brother ; 
I wound my hands around the spar, tight, tight, 

with the grip of Death, 
And in my mortal fear I seized the wood fast in 

my teeth ; 



72 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 

And as each high wave struck the mast, and 

shook us to and fro. 
We could see the sharks' white belHes turn in 

the sea below. 

Just as the day was breaking, I grew dizzy, faint, 

and sick, 
And I heard the man who held me breathing 

heavily and quick. 
His Hmbs shd slowly down, while with one hand 

he still did clasp 
My arm, and I felt it yielding in the dead man's 

fatal grasp, 
I flung it loose, still holding by one arm alone, 

while he. 
With a heavy plunge fell fathoms down, into the 

churning sea — 
He was dead, sirs, he was dead, yet my eyes 

grew glazed and dim 
With horror, for I felt as if I just had murdered 

him, 



THE WEECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 73 

And with that thought my wits gave way, for 

'twas followed by another, 
At which I shrieked aloud — that I had cast away 

my brother. 

And this is all that I can tell — for I saw and 

heard no more, 
Till life came into me again, as I lay upon the 

shore ; 
I and a few poor fellows that a boat had fetched 

away, 
By God's grace, from that direful mast, with the 

blessed light of day. 
Our eyes were full of tears, as we looked towards 

the fatal reef. 
Where above the surf the swinging yard seemed 

to beckon for relief, 
For our comrades who lay rolling all round the 

sunken mast, — 
They were brave fellows, sirs, and did their duty 

to the last : 
6 



74 THE WRECK OF THE BIRKENHEAD. 

And I hope that I may say it without unbecoming 

pride, 
There are gallant soldiers, well I know, in many 

a land beside. 
But I think that none but Englishmen like those 

men would have died. 



A LOVER TO HIS MISTEESS. 

Oh make not light of love, my lady dear, 
For, from that sweetest source doth ever flow 
All that is likest heaven on earth below. 
Ill it beseems, who worthiest love appear, 
To scoff at their own worship ;— if to you 
All that a serving soul, tender and true, 
Can bring of best and holiest offering, 
Seems but a slight and unregarded thing- 
Then are you, with your grace and loveliness, 
A wicked phantom, with an evil spell. 
Luring warm human hearts to a cold hell, 
Where in a barren, bhghted emptiness. 
Self-love and vanity together dwell ; 
Companions curst, cruel, and comfortless. 

(75) 



A EEJECTED LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. 

Knowest thou not that of all human gifts 
God chooses love ? — alone, that may be laid 
Upon his altar, who hath all things made. 
And find acceptance : — to the hand that lifts 
That precious price, the gates of heaven give way, 
And wilt thou dare lightly to cast away 
My soul's best offering, thou cruel child ! 
With wanton wealth of youth and beauty wild. 
Who shall pray for thee, that there be not laid 
On thee, in days to come, the bitter load, 
Of love unrecognized and unrepaid ? 
Ah ! who shall comfort thee, for all thy scorn. 
When thou shalt wander, weeping and forlorn, 
Remembering me, along life's flinty road. 

(76) 



A REJECTED LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. 

The love that was too poor to purchase you, 
Is rich enough to buy each noble thing, 
That may be reached on the untiring wing 
Of patient, strong pursuit ; all that is true. 
Honest, and brave, and most adorns a man, 
I may achieve — and will : — and since I can 
So glorify the life that you rejected. 
E'en, fairest mistress ! for your sake, no prize 
That may proclaim me worthy, good, or wise, 
Shall by my best endeavor be neglected. 
So that this judgment you may yet decree. 
When from the height of your sweet excellence, 
You sentence pass, on my hope's bold offence — 
Such love was worthy to be offered me. 

(77) 



WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS. 

Come down ! from where the everlasting hills 
Open their rocky gates to let thee pass, 
Child of a thousand rapid running rills, 
And still lakes, where the skies their beauty glass. 

With thy dark eyes, white feet, and amber hair, 

Of heaven and earth thou fair and fearful daugh- 
ter, 

Through thy wide halls, and down thy echoing 
stair. 

Rejoicing come — thou lovely " Leaping water ! " 

Shout ! tiU the woods beneath their vaults of green 
Resound, and shake their pillars on thy way ; 
Fling wide thy glittering fringe of silver sheen, 
And toss towards heaven thy clouds of dazzling 
spray. 

(78) 



WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS. 79 

The sun looks down upon thee with delight, 
And weaves his prism around thee for a belt ; 
And as the wind waves thy thin robes of light, 
The jewels of thy girdle glow and melt. 

Ah ! where be they, w^ho first with human eyes 
Beheld thy glory, thou triumphant flood ! 
And through the forest, heard with glad surprise, 
Thy waters calling, hke the voice of God ? 

Far towards the setting sun, wandering they go. 
Poor remnant ! left, from exile and from slaughter. 
But still their memory, mingling with thy flow. 
Lives in thy name — thou lovely " Leaping Water." 



WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS. 

When first I stood upon this rocky ledge, 
Beneatli whose brink the frenzied waters toil, 
And eager leaning from the dizzy edge, 
Gazed breathless in the caldron where they boil ; 
Love held my hand, and bade me nothmg fear, 
For life, and youth, and joy, and hope, were 

mine, 
And death and horror could not come me near, 
I was so compassed with their arms divine. 

Oh God ! how full of happiness I stood ! 
Looking into the eyes that were my day. 
And felt my soul, borne like that rushing flood, 
In eddying tumults of dehght away. 



When next I came unto this water's brink, 

A devil dragged me ruthless towards the wave. 



WRITTEN AT TRENTON FALLS. 81 

And bowed my head, and bade me plunge, and 

sink. 
And thrust me downwards to that hideous grave ; 
Crying, " Go down ! into that clamorous death, 
That leaps, and rolls, and roars, to swallow 

thee. 
For what hast thou to do with living breath. 
Who hast outlived all life but agony ? " 

Oh God ! how full of misery I lay ! 
On the grim margin of that dreary well, 
Of love, and hope, wretchedest castaway, 
Longing in nothingness thenceforth to dwell. 

•But I have lived to come and stand again 
On the wild torrent's brim, with soul serene. 
And watch the foaming amber pour amain 
Down the steep chasm its glorious golden sheen. 
And by my side Heaven's holy angel stood, 
And in my heart the peace of Heaven shone. 
And as I gazed on the fair, fearful flood. 
My spirit sought the footstool of God's throne : 



82 WRITTEN AT TKENTON FALLS. 

Oh God ! be blest that all thy floods have gone 

Over my head ! — that bitterness is past — 

Oh God ! be praised that though I stand alone, 

I stand upon thy stedfast rock at last ! 

Dear God ! be thanked that thou hast let me live 

Oji till this hour of hohest influence mild, 

And healed my heart, and saved my soul alive. 

And as thine angel given me back my child ! 



PARTING. 

The golden hinges of the year have turned — 
Spring, and the summer, and the harvest time 
Have come, and gone ; and on the threshold 

stands 
The withered Winter, stretching forth his hands. 
To take my rose from me ; — which he will wear 
On his bleak bosom, all the bitter months 
While the earth and I remain disconsolate. 
My rose ! — with the soft vesture of her leaves, 
Gathered all round the secrets of her heart. 
In crimson fragrant folds, ^within her bower 
Of fair fresh green, guarded with maiden thorns. 
Oh withered Winter ! keep my blossom safe ! 
Thou shalt not kiss her with thy blue cold lips. 
Nor pinch her in thy bony grip, — nor drop 
More than one tiny sparkhng diamond, 

(83) 



84 PARTING. 

From thy cold carcanet, upon her cheek : 
But lay soft snow fur round her — and above 
Her precious head, make thy skies blue and clear, 
Aiid set her in the sun ; — oh withered Winter ! 
Be tender of my rose, and harm her not. 
Alas, my flower, farewell ! 



TO -, 

WHO FELL PROM A PRECIPICE INTO A MOUNTAIN 
TORRENT. 

What said to thee those angels terrible. 

Whose sudden pinions swept thee from our sight, 

When o'er us all the awful horror fell, 

That turned thy mid-day sunshine into night ? 

What mysteries ineffable and dread 
Flashed in that aching moment o'er thy soul. 
While with thee, 'twixt the living and the dead, 
Our spirits hung, 'neath God's supreme control ? 

" Look on me, I am Life ! " one angel cried— 
" Love me, and use me well, I yet am thine ! " 
" Look on me, I am Death ! " his peer replied — 
" Forget me nevermore, thou must be mine ! " 

(85) 



86 TO . 

Oh snatched from Death ! may death to thee 

appear 
Henceforth famihar, from all terrors free : 
Oh given back to Life ! — be life more dear, 
Holier and happier, from this hour to thee. 



A NOONDAY VISION. 

I SAW one whom I love more than my life 
Stand on a perilous edge of slippery rock, 
Under her feet the water's furious strife, 
And all around the thunder of their shock ; 
She stood and smiled, while terror held mj breath, 
Nor dared I speak, or move, or call, or cry. 
Lest to wild measuring of the depth beneath, 
From her small foothold she should turn her eye. 
As in the tyrannous horror of a dream, 
I could not look away, but stony, still, 
Fastened my eyes on her, while she did seem 
Like one that fears, but hath a stedfast will. 
Around her, through green boughs, the sunlight 

flung 
Its threads of glory like a golden net. 
And all about the rock-wall where she clung, 

(87) 



88 A NOONDAY VISION. 

The trembling crests of fern with stars were wet. 

Bright beads of crystal on a rainbow strung, 

Jewels of fire in drops of water set ; 

And while I gazed, a hand stretched forth to her. 

Beckoned her on — and holding firm and fast 

By this her unseen guide and monitor. 

Behind the rocks out of my sight she passed. 

And then the agony of all my fears 

Broke forth from out my eyes in sudden tears, 

And I fell weeping down upon the sod; 

But in my soul I heard a voice that said 

Be comforted — of what art thou afraid ? 

Nor for the hand she holds be thou dismayed, 

The hand that holds her is the hand of God. 



[The Poems which follow were published in a volume 
several years ago.] 



LINES WKITTEN AT NIGHT, 

August 9th, 1825. 

Oh, thou surpassing beauty! that dost live 
Shrined in yon silent stream of glorious light ! 
Spirit of harmony ! that through the vast 
And cloud-embroidered canopy art spreading 
Thy wings, that o'er our shadowy earth hang 

brooding, 
Like a pale silver haze, betwixt the moon 
And the world's darker orb : beautiful, hail ! 
Hail to thee ! from her midnight throne of ether, 
Night looks upon the slumbering universe. 
There is no breeze on silver crowned tree. 
There is no breath on dew-bespangled flower, 

7 



90 LINES WKITTEN AT NIGHT. 

There is no wind sighs on the sleepy wave^ 
There is no sound hangs in the solemn air. 
All, all are silent, all are dreaming, all, 
Save jon eternal eyes, that now shine forth 
Winking the slumberer's destinies. The moon 
Sails on the horizon's verge, a moving glory, 
Pure, and unrivalled ; for no paler orb 
Approaches, to invade the sea of light 
That lives around her ; save yon Httle star. 
That sparkles on her robe of fleecy clouds. 
Like a bright gem, fallen from her radiant brow. 



VENICE. 

I!^IGHT in her dark array 

Steals o'er the ocean, 
And with departed day 

Hushed seems its motion. 
Slowly o'er yon blue coast 

Onward she's treading, 
'Till its dark line is lost, 

'Neath her veil spreading. 
The bark on the rippHng deep 

Hath found a pillow, 
And the pale moonbeams sleep 

On the green billow. 
Bound by her emerald zone 

Venice is lying. 
And round her marble crown 

Night winds are sighing. 

(91) 



92 VENICE. 

From the high lattice now 

Bright eyes are gleaming, 
That seem on night's dark brow, 

Brighter stars beaming. 
Kow o'er the blue lagune 

Light barks are dancing, 
And 'neath the silver moon 

Swift oars are glancing. 
Strains from the mandolin 

Steal o'er the water, 
Echo replies between 

To mirth and laughter. 
O'er the wave seen afar 

Brilliantly shining, 
Gleams like a fallen star 

Venice reclining. 



TO MISS . 

Time beckons on the hours : the expiring year 

Already feels old Winter's icy breath ; 
As Tvith cold hands, he scatters on her bier 

The faded glories of her autumn wreath. 
As fleetly as the summer's sunshine past, 

The winter's snow must melt ; and the young 
Spring, 
Strewing the earth with flowers, will come at last, 

And in her train the hour of parting bring. 
But, though I leave the harbor, where my heart 

Sometime had found a peaceful resting-place. 
Where it lay calmly moored ; though I depart. 

Yet, let not time my memory quite efface. 
'Tis true, I leave no void, the happy home 

To which you welcomed me, will be as gay. 
As bright, as cheerful, when I've turned to roam. 

Once more, upon life's weary onward way. 

(93) 



94 TO MISS — . 

But oh ! if ever by the warm hearth's blaze, 

Where beaming eyes and kindred souls are met, 
Your fancy wanders back to former days. 

Let my remembrance hover round you yet. 
Then, while before you glides time's shadowy train, 

Of forms long vanished, days and hours long 
gone. 
Perchance my name will be pronounced again. 

In that dear circle where I once was one. 
Think of me then, nor break kind memory's spell. 

By reason's censure coldly o'er me cast. 
Think only, that I loved ye passing well ! 

And let my follies slumber with the past. 



THE WIND. 

Night comes upon the earth; and fearfully 
Arise the mighty winds, and sweep along 
In the full chorus of their midnight song. 
The waste of heavy clouds, that veil the sky, 
Roll Hke a murky scroll before them driven, 
And show faint glimpses of a darker heaven. 
No ray is there, of moon, or pale-eyed star, 
Darkness is on the universe ; save where 
The western sky lies glimmering, faint and far, 
With day's red embers dimly glowing there. 
Hark ! how the wind comes gathering in its course. 
And sweeping onward, with resistless force, 
Howls through the silent space of starless skies. 
And on the breast of the swoln ocean dies. 
Oh, thou art terrible, thou viewless power ! 
That rid'st destroying at the midnight hour ! 

(95) 



96 THE WIND. 

We hear tliy mightj pinion, but the eye 
Knows nothing of thine awful majesty. 
We see all mute creation bow before 
Thy viewless wings, as thou careerest o'er 
This rocking world ; that in the boundless sky 
Suspended, vibrates, as tl^ou rushest by. 
There is no terror in the lightning's glare. 
That breaks its red track through the trackless 

air ; 
There is no terror in the voice that speaks 
From out the clouds when the loud thunder 

breaks 
Over the earth, like that which dwells in thee, 
Thou unseen tenant of immensity. 



EASTERN SUNSET. 

'Tis only the nightingale's warbled strain, 
That floats through the evening sky : 

With his note of love, he replies again. 
To the muezzin's holy cry ; 

As it sweetly sounds on the rosy air, 

"Allah il allah! come to prayer!" 

Warm o'er the waters the red sun is glowing, 

'Tis the last parting glance of his splendor and 
might. 

While each rippling wave on the bright shore is 
throwing 

Its white crest, that breaks into showers of light. 

Each distant mosque and minaret 

Is shining in the setting sun. 

Whose farewell look is brighter yet. 

Than that with which his course begun. 

(97) 



98 EASTERN SUNSET. 

On the dark blue mountains his smile is bright, 
It glows on the orange grove's waving height, 
And breaks through its shade in long lines of 

hght. 
No sound on the earth, and no sound in the sky. 
Save murmuring fountains that sparkle nigh. 
And the rusthng flight of the evening breeze, 
Who steals from his nest in the orange trees, 
And a thousand dewy odors fling, 
As he shakes their white buds from his gossamer 

wing. 
And flutters away through the spicy air, 
At sound of a footstep drawing near. 



FAREWELL TO ITALY. 

Farewell awhile, beautiful Italy ! 
My lonely bark is launched upon the sea 
That clasps thy shore, and the soft evening gale 
Breathes from thy coast, and fills my parting sail. 
Ere morning dawn, a colder breeze will come. 
And bear me onward to my northern home ; 
That home, where the pale sun is not so bright, 
So glorious, at his noonday's fiercest height, 
As when he throws his last glance o'er the sea, 
And fires the heavens, that glow farewell on thee. 
Fair Italy ! perchance some future day 
Upon thy coast again will see me stray ; 
Meantime, farewell ! I sorrow, as I leave 
Thy lovely shore behind me, as men grieve 
When bending o'er a form, around whose charms, 
Unconquered yet, death winds his icy arms : 

(99) 



100 FAREWELL TO ITALY. 

While leaving the last kiss on some dear cheek, 

Where beauty sheds her last autumnal streak, 

Life's rosy flower just* mantling into bloom, 

Before it fades forever in the tomb. 

So I leave thee, oh ! thou art lovely still ! , 

Despite the clouds of infamy and ill 

That gather thickly round thy fading form: 

Still glow thy glorious skies, as bright and warm, 

Still memory lingers fondly on thy strand, 

And genius hails thee still her native land. 

Land of my soul's adoption ! o'er the sea. 

Thy sunny shore is fading rapidly : 

Fainter and fainter, from my gaze it dies, 

'Till like a line of distant light it lies, 

A melting boundary 'twixt earth and sky. 

And now 'tis gone ; — farewell, fair Italy ! 



THE EED INDIAN. 

Rest, warrior, rest ! thine hour is past,- 
Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last, 
Still rings upon the rushing blast, 
That o'er thy grave sweeps drearily. 

Rest, warrior, rest ! thy haughty brow, 
Beneath the hand of death bends low. 
Thy fiery glance is quenched now. 
In the cold grave's obscurity. 

Rest, warrior, rest ! thy rising sun 
Is set in blood, thy day is done ; 
Like lightning flash thy race is run, 
And thou art sleeping peacefully. 

(101) 



102 THE RED INDIAN". 

Rest, warrior, rest! thy foot no more 
The boundless forest shall explore. 
Or trackless cross the sandy shore. 
Or chase the red deer rapidly. 

Rest, warrior, rest! thy light canoe. 
Like thy choice arrow, swift and true. 
Shall part no more the waters blue. 
That sparkle round it briUiantly. 

Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past, 
Yon sinking sunbeam is thy last. 
And all is silent, save the blast, 

That o'er thy grave sweeps drearily. 



SONG. 

Yet once again, but once, before we sever, 
Fill we one brimming cup, — ^it is the last ! 

And let those lips, now parting, and for ever. 
Breathe o'er this pledge, " the memory of the 
past ! " 

Joy's fleeting sun is set ; and no to-morrow 
Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast. 

Yet, in the bitter cup, o'erfiUed with sorrow. 
Lives one sweet drop,— the memory of the past. 

But one more look from those dear eyes, now 
shining 
Through their warm tears, their loveliest and 
their last ; 
But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining. 
Now farewell all, save memory of the past. 

(103) 



LAMENT FOR ISRAEL. 

Wheke is thy home in thj promised land? 

Desolate and forsaken ! 
The stranger's arm hath seized thy brand, 
Thou art bowed beneath the stranger's hand. 

And the stranger thy birthright hath taken. 

Where is the mark of thy chosen race ? 

Infamous and degraded ! 
It hath fallen on thee, on thy dwelling-place, 
And that heaven-stamped sign to a foul disgrace 

And the scoff of the world, has faded. 

First-born of nations ! upon thy brow. 

Resistless and revenging, 
The fiery finger of God hath now 
Written the sentence of thy woe. 

The innocent blood avenging ! 

(104) 



TO . 105 

Lion of Judah ! thy gloiy is past, 

Vanished and fled for ever. 
Homeless and scattered, thy race is cast 
Like chaff in the breath of the sweeping blast. 

To rally or rise again, never ! 



TO 



Oh ! turn those eyes away from me ! 

Though sweet, yet fearful are their rays ; 
And though they beam so tenderly, 

I feel, I tremble 'neath their gaze. 
Oh, turn those eyes away ! for though 

To meet their glance I may not dare, 
I know their light is on my brow. 

By the warm blood that mantles there. 



A WISH. 

Let me not die for ever! when I'm gone 

To the cold earth ; but let my memory- 
Live hke the gorgeous western light that shone 

Over the clouds where sank day's majesty. 
Let me not be forgotten ! though the grave 

Has clasped its hideous arms around my brow. 
Let me not be forgotten ! though the wave 

Of time's dark current rolls above me now. 
Yet not in tears remembered be my name ; 

Weep over those ye loved ; for me, for me, 
Give me the wreath of glory, and let fame 

Over my tomb spread immortality ! 

(106) 



A WISH. 

Let me not die for ever! when I'm laid 

In the cold earth ; but let my memory 
Live still among ye, like the evening shade, 

That o'er the sinking day steals placidly. 
Let me not be forgotten ! though the knell 

Has tolled for me its solemn lullaby ; 
Let me not be forgotten ! though I dwell 

For ever now in death's obscurity. 
Yet oh ! upon the emblazoned leaf of fame. 

Trace not a record, not a line for me. 
But let the lips I loved oft breathe my name, 

And in your hearts enshrine my memory ! 

(107) 



SONG. 

The moment must come, when the hands that 
unite 
In the firm clasp of friendship, will sever ; 
When the eyes that have beamed o'er us brightly 
to-night, 
Wni have ceased to shine o'er us, for ever. 
Yet wreathe again the goblet's brim 

With pleasure's roseate crown ! 
What though the future hour be dim — 
The present is our own ! 

The moment is come, and again we are parting, 
To roam through the world, each our separate 
way ; 
In the bright eye of beauty the pearl-drop is 
starting, 
But hope, sunny hope, through the tear sheds 
its ray. 

(108) 



SONG. 109 

Then wreathe again the goblet's brim 
With pleasure's roseate crown ! 

What though the present hour be dim — 
The future's yet our own ! 

The moment is past, and the bright throng that 
round us 
So lately was gathered, has fled like a dream ; 
And time has untwisted the fond hnks that bound 
us. 
Like frost wreaths, that melt in the morning's 
first beam. 
Still wreathe once more the goblet's brim ! 

With pleasure's roseate crown ! 
What though all else beside be dim— 
The past has been our own! 



TO MRS. . 

Oh lady ! thou, who in the olden time 
Hadst been the star of many a poet's dream ! 
Thou, who unto a mind of mould sublime, 
Weddest the gentle graces that beseem 
Fair woman's best ! forgive the daring line 
That falters forth thy praise ! nor let thine eye 
Glance o'er the vain attempt too scornfully ; 
But, as thou read'st, think what a love was mine, 
That made me venture on a theme, that none 
Can know thee, and not feel a hopeless one. 
Thou art most fair, though sorrow's chastening 

wing 
Hath past, and left its shadow on thy brow. 
And solemn thoughts are gently mellowing 
The splendor of thy beauty's summer now\ 

(110) 



TO MRS. . Ill 

Thou art most fair ! but thine is loveliness 

That dwells not only on the hp, or eye ; 

Thy beauty, is thy pure heart's holiness ; 

Thy grace, thy lofty spirit's majesty. 

While thus I gaze on thee, and watch thee glide, 

Like some calm spirit o'er life's troubled stream, 

With thy twin buds of beauty by thy side 

Together blossoming ; I almost deem 

That I behold the loveliness and truth, 

That Hke fair visions hovered round my youth. 

Long sought — and then forgotten as a dream. 



A SPIRIT'S VOICE. 

It is the dawn ! the rosy day awakes ; 

From her bright hair pale showers of dew she 

shakes, 
And through the heavens her early pathway 

takes ; 
Why art thou sleeping ! 

It is the noon ! the sun looks laughing down 
On hamlet still, on busy shore, and town, 
On forest glade, and deep dark waters lone ; . 
Why art thou sleeping ! 

It is the sunset ! daylight's crimson veil 

Floats o'er the mountain tops, while twilight pale, 

Calls up her vaporous shrouds from every vale'; 
Why art thou sleeping ! 

(112) 



A spieit's voice. 113 

It is the night! o'er the moon's hvid brow, 
Like shadowy locks, the clouds their darkness 

throw. 
All evil spirits wake to wander now; 
Why art thou sleeping I 



TO THE DEAD. 

On the lone waters' shore 

Wander I yet ; 
Brooding those moments o'er 

I should forget. 
'TiUthe broad foaming surge 

Warns me to fly, 
While despair's whispers urge 

To stay, and die. 
When the night's solemn watch 

Falls on the seas, 
'Tis thy voice that I catch 

In the low breeze ; 
When the moon sheds her light 

On things below, 
Beams not her ray so bright. 

Like thy young brow ? 

(114) 



TO . 115 



Spirit immortal ! say, 
When wilt thou come, 

To marshal me the way 
To my long home ? 



.TO 



When we first met, dark wintry skies were gloom- 
ing, 

And the wild winds sang requiem to the year ; 
But thou, in all thy beauty's pride wert blooming, 

And my young heart knew hope without a fear. 

When we last parted, summer suns were smiling. 
And the bright earth her flowery vesture wore. 

But thou hadst lost the power of beguiling. 
For my wrecked, wearied heart, could hope no 
more. 



SONG. 

I SING the yellow leaf, 
That rustling strews 
The wintry path, where grief 
Delights to muse, 
Spring's early violet, that sweetly opes 

Its fragrant leaves to the young morning's kiss. 
Type of our youth's fond dreams, and cherished 
hope. 
Will soon be this : 

A sere and yellow leaf. 

That rustling strews 
The wintry path, where grief 
Delights to muse. 
The summer's rose, in whose rich hues we read 
Pleasure's gay bloom, and love's enchanting 
bliss, 

(116) 



SONG. 117 

And glory's laurel, waving o'er the dead, 
Will soon be this : 

A sere and yellow leaf, 

That rustling strews 
The wintry path, where grief 
DeHghts to muse. 



TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. 

Here's a health to thee, Bard of Erin ! 

To the goblet's brim we will fill ; 
For all that to life is endearing, 

Thj strains have made dearer still ! 

Wherever fond woman's eyes eclipse 
The midnight moon's soft ray ; 

Whenever around dear woman's lips. 
The smiles of affection play : 

We will drink to thee. Bard of Erin ! 

To the goblet's brim we will fill. 
For all that to life is endearing, 

Thy strains have made dearer still ! 

(118) 



TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. 119 

Wherever the warrior's sword is bound 

With the laurel of victory, 
Wherever the patriot's brow is crowned 

With the halo of liberty : 

We will drink to thee. Bard of Erin ! 

To the goblet's brim we will fill ; 
For all that to Hfe is endearing 

Thy strains have made dearer still! 

Wherever the voice of mirth hath rung. 

On the listening ear of night, 
Wherever the soul of wit hath flung 

Its flashes of vivid light : 

We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin ! 

To the goblet's brim we will fill ; 
For all that to life is endearing, 

In thy strains is dearer still ! 



THE MINSTREL'S GRAVE. 

Oh let it be where the waters are meeting. 
In one crystal sheet, like the summer's sky 
bright ! 
Oh let it be where the sun, when retreating, 

May throw the last glance of his vanishing light, 
Lay me there ! lay me there 1 and upon my lone 
pillow, 
Let the emerald moss in soft starry wreaths swell : 
Be my dirge the faint sob of the murmuring 
billow. 
And the burthen it sings to me, nought but 
" farewell 1 " 

Oh let it be where soft slumber enticing, 

The cypress and myrtle have mingled their 
shade ; 

(120) 



THE minstrel's (JRAVE. 121 

Oh let it be where the moon at her risino;, 
Maj throw the first night-glance that silvers 
the glade. 
Lay me there ! laj me there ! and upon the green 
willow 
Hang the harp that has cheered the lone min- 
strel so well, 
That the soft breath of heaven, as it sighs o'er 
mj pillow, 
From its strings, now forsaken, may sound one- 
farewell. 



ON A FORGET-ME-NOT, 

BROUGHT FROM SWITZERLAND. 

Flower of the mountain ! by the wanderer's hand 
Robbed of thy beauty's short-hved sunny day ; 
Didst thou but blow to gem the stranger's way, 
And bloom, to wither in the stranger's land ! 
Hueless and scentless as thou art. 

How much that stirs the memory, 
How much, much more, that thrills the heart. 
Thou faded thing, yet lives in thee ! 

Where is thy beauty ? in the grassy blade. 
There lives more fragrance, and more freshness 
now ; 
Yet oh ! not all the flowers that bloom and fade, 
Are half so dear to memory's eye as thou. 
The dew that on the mountain lies. 
The breeze that o'er the mountain sighs, 

(122) 



A WISH. 123 

Thy parent stem will nurse and nourish ; 
But thou-^not e'en those sunny eyes 
As bright, as blue, as thine own skies, 

Thou faded thing ! can make thee flourish. 



A WISH. 

Oh ! that I were a fairy sprite, to wander 
Li forest paths, o'erarched with oak and beech; 
Where the sun's yellow light, in slanting rays, 
Sleeps on the dewy moss : what time the breath 
Of early morn stirs the white hawthorn boughs. 
And fills the air with showers of snowy blossoms. 
Or he at sunset 'mid the purple heather. 
Listening the silver music that rings out 
From the pale mountain bells, swayed by the wind. 
Or sit in rocky clefts above the sea. 
While one by one the evening stars shine forth 
Among the gathering clouds, that strew the 

heavens 
Like floating purple wreaths of mournful night- 
shade ! 



SONNET 

'TwAS but a dream ! and oh ! what are they all, 
All the fond visions hope's bright finger traces, 
All the fond visions time's dark wing effaces. 

But very dreams ! but morning buds, that fall 
Withered and blighted, long before the night : 
Strewing the paths they should have made more 
bright, 

With mournful wreaths, whose light hath past away. 
That can return to life and beauty never, 

And yet, of whom it was but yesterday, 

We deemed they'd bloom as fresh and fair for 
ever. 

Oh then, when hopes, that to thy heart are dearest. 
Over the future shed their sunniest beam. 

When round thy path their bright wings hover 
nearest. 
Trust not too fondly !- — for 'tis but a dream ! 

(124) 



I 



SONNET. 

Oh weary, weary world ! how full thou art 

Of sin, of sorrow, and all evil things ! 
In thy fierce turmoil, where shall the sad heart, 

Released from pain, fold its unrested wings ? 
Peace hath no dwelling here, but evermore 
Loud discord, strife, and envy, fill the earth 
With fearful riot, whilst unhallowed mirth 
Shrieks frantic laughter forth, leading along, 
Whirling in dizzy trance, the eager throng. 
Who bear aloft the overflowing cup, 
With tears, forbidden joys, and blood filled up. 
Quaffing long draughts of death ; in lawless might, 
Drunk with soft harmonies, and dazzling light, 
So rush they down to the eternal night. 

(126) 



ON A MUSICAL BOX. 

Poor little sprite ! in that dark, narrow cell 

Caged bj the law of man's resistless might ! 
With thy sweet, liquid notes, by some strong spell, 

Compelled to minister to his delight ! 
Whence, what art thou ? art thou a fairy wight 

Caught sleeping in some lily's snowy bell, 
Where thou hadst crept, to rock in the moonlight. 

And drink the starry dew-drops as they fell ? 
Say, dost thou think, sometimes when thou art 
singing. 

Of thy wild haunt upon the mountain's brow, 
Where thou wert wont to list the heath-bells ring- 
ing. 

And sail upon the sunset's amber glow ? 
When thou art weary of thy oft-told theme. 

Say, dost thou think of the clear pebbly stream, 

(126) 



ON A MUSICAL BOX. 127 

Upon whose mossj brink thy feHows play ? 
Dancing in circles by the moon's soft beam, 
Hiding in blossoms from the sun's fierce gleam, 

Whilst thou, in darkness, sing'st thy life away. 
And canst thou feel when the spring-time returns. 

Filling the earth with fragrance and with glee ; 
When in the wide creation nothing mourns, 

Of all that hves, save that which is not free ? 
Oh ! if thou couldst, and we could hear thy 
prayer. 

How would thy little voice beseeching cry, 
For one short draught of the sweet morning air, 

For one short glimpse of the clear azure sky ! 
Perchance thou sing'st in hopes thou shalt be free. 

Sweetly and patiently thy task fulfilling ; 
While thy sad thoughts are w^andering with the 
bee. 

To every bud with honey dew distilling. 
That hope is vain: for even could'st thou wing 

Thy homeward flight back to the greenwood gay, 
Thou'dst be a shunned and a forsaken thing, 
^ 'Mongst the companions of thy happier day. 



128 ON A MUSICAL BOX. 

For fairj sprites, like manj other creatures, 

Bear fleeting memories, that come and go ; 
Nor can they oft recall familiar features, 

By absence touched, or clouded o'er with woe. 
Then rest content with sorrow : for there be 
Many that must that lesson learn with thee ; 
And still thy wild notes warble cheerfully, 
Till, when thy tiny voice begins to fail, 
For thy lost bliss sing but one parting wail. 
Poor little sprite ! and then sleep peacefully ! 



TO THE PICTUEE OF A LADY. 

Lady, sweet lady, I behold thee yet, 

With thy pale brow, bro^vn eyes, and solemn air, 

And billowy tresses of thy golden hair, 

Which once to see, is never to forget ! 

But for short space I gazed, with soul intent 

Upon thee ; and the limner's art divine, 

Meantime, poured all thy spirit into mine. 

But once I gazed, then on my way I went : 

And thou art still before me. Like a dream 

Of what our soul has loved, and lost for ever. 

Thy vision dwells with me, and though I never 

May be so blest as to behold thee more. 

That one short look has stamped thee in my 

heart. 
Of my intensest life a living part, 
Which time, and death, shall never triumph o'er. 

(129) 



FEAGMENT. 

Walking by moonlight on the golden margin 

That binds the silver sea, I fell to thinking 

Of all the wild imaginings that man 

Hath peopled heaven, and earth, and ocean with ; 

Making fair nature's solitary haunts 

Alive with beings, beautiful and fearful. 

And as the chain of thought grew link by link, 

It seemed, as though the midnight heavens waxed 

brighter, 
The stars gazed fix'dly with their golden eyes. 
And a strange light played o'er each sleeping 

billow. 
That laid its head upon the sandy beach. 
Anon there came along the rocky shore 
A far-off sound of sweetest minstrelsy. 
From no one point of heaven, or earth, it came ; 

(130) 



FRAGMENT. 181 

But under, over, and about it breathed ; 
Filling my soul with thrilling, fearful pleasure. 
It swelled, as though borne on the floating wings 
Of the midsummer breeze ; it died away 
Towards heaven, as though it sank into the 

clouds. 
That one by one melted like flakes of snow 
In the moonbeams. Then came a rushing sound, 
Like countless wings of bees, or butterflies ; 
And suddenly, as far as eye might view, 
The coast was peopled with a world of elves. 
Who in fantastic ringlets danced around. 
With antic gestures, and wild beckoning motion. 
Aimed at the moon. White was their snowy ves- 
ture. 
And shining as the Alps, when that the sun 
Gems their pale robes with diamonds. On their 

heads 
Were wreaths of crimson and of yellow fox-glove. 
They were all fair, and light as dreams ; anon 
The dance broke off ; and sailing through the air, 
Some one way, and some other, they did each 



132 FRAGMENT 

Alight upon some waving branch, or flower, 
That garlanded the rocks upon the shore. 
One, chiefly, did I mark ; one tiny sprite. 
Who crept into an orange flower-bell, 
And there lay nesthng, whilst his eager lips 
Drank from its virgin chalice the night dew. 
That glistened, like a pearl, in its white bosom. 



SONNET. 

Cover me with your everlasting arms, 
Ye guardian giants of this sohtude ! 
From the ill-sight of men, and from the rude, 

Tumultuous din of yon wild world's alarms ! 

Oh, knit your mighty limbs around, above, 
And close me in for ever ! let me dwell 
With the wood spirits, in the darkest cell 

That ever with your verdant locks ye wove. 
The air is full of countless voices, joined 
In one eternal hymn ; the whispering wind, 
The shuddering leaves, the hidden water springs, 
The work-song of the bees, whose honeyed 

wings 
Hang in the golden tresses of the lime. 
Or buried lie in purple beds of thyme. 

(133) 



WRITTEN ON CRAMOND BEACH. 

Farewell, old playmate ! on thy sandy shore 

My lingering feet will leave their print no more ; 

To thy loved side I never may return. 

I pray thee, old companion, make due mourn 

For the wild spirit who so oft has stood 

Gazing in love and wonder on thy flood. 

The form is now departing far away, 

That half in anger, oft, and half in play. 

Thou hast pursued with thy white showers of 

foam. 
Thy waters daily will besiege the home 
I loved , among the rocks ; but there will be 
No laughing cry, to hail thy victory, 
Such as was wont to greet thee, when I fled, 
With hurried footsteps, and averted head. 
Like fallen monarch, from my venturous stand. 
Chased by thy billows far along the sand. 

(134) 



WRITTEN ON CRAMOND BEACH. 135 

And when at eventide thy warm waves drink 
The amber clouds, that in their bosom sink ; 
When sober twihght over thee has spread 
Her purple pall, when the glad day is dead, 
My voice no more will mingle with the dirge 
That rose in mighty moaning from thy surge, 
Filling with awful harmony the air. 
When thy vast soul and mine were joined in 
prayer. 



SONNET. 

Away, away! bear me away, away, 

Into the boundless void, thou mighty wind ! 

That rushest on thy midnight way. 

And leav'st this weary world, far, far behind 

Away, away ! bear me away, away. 

To the wide strandless deep, 

Ye headlong waters ! whose mad eddies leap 

From the pollution of your bed of clay. 

Away, away ! bear me away, away, 

Into the fountains of eternal Hght, 

Ye rosy clouds ! that to my longing sight. 

Seem melting in the sun's devouring ray ! 

Away ! away ! oh, for some mighty blast. 

To sweep this loathsome Hfe into the past ! 

(136) 



FRAGMENT. . 

It was tlie harvest time : the broad, bright moon 
Was at her full, and shone upon the fields 
Where we had toiled the livelong day, to pile 
In golden sheaves the earth's abundant treasure. 
The harvest task had given place to song 
And merrj dance ; and these in turn were chased 
By legends strange, and wild, unearthly tales. 
Of elves, and gnomes, and fairy sprites, that haunt 
The woods and caves ; where they do sleep all 

day. 
And then come forth i' the witching hour of night. 
To dance by moonlight on the green thick sward. 
The speaker was an aged villager, 
In whom his oft-told tale awoke no fears. 
Such as he filled his gaping listeners with. 
Nor ever was there break in his discourse ; 

10 



138 FRAGMENT. 

Save when with graj eyes lifted to the moon, 
He conjured from the past strange instances 
Of kidnapped infants, from their cradles snatched, 
And changed for elvish sprites ; of blights, and 

blains. 
Sent on the cattle by the vengeful fairies ; 
Of blasted crops, maimed limbs, and unsound 

minds. 
All plagues inflicted by these angered sprites. 
Then would he pause, and wash his story down 
With long-drawn draughts of amber ale ; while all 
The rest came crowding under the wide oak-tree; 
Pihng the corn-sheaves closer round the ring. 
Whispering and shaking, laughing too, with fear ; 
And ever, if an acorn bobbed from the boughs 
Or grasshopper from out the stubble chirrupped. 
Blessing themselves from Robin Goodfellow ! 



SONNET. 

Oft let. me wander hand in hand with Thought, 
In woodland paths, and lone sequestered shades, 
What time the sunny banks and mossy glades, 
With dewy wreaths of early violets wrought. 
Into the air their fragrant incense fling. 
To greet the triumph of the youthful Spring. 
Lo, where she comes ! scaped from the icy lair 
Of hoary Winter ; wanton, free, and fair ! 
Now smile the heavens again upon the earth, 
Bright hill, and bosky dell, resound with mirth. 
And voices, full of laughter and wild glee. 
Shout through the air pregnant with harmony ; 
And wake poor sobbing Echo, who replies 
With sleepy voice, that softly, slowly, dies. 

(139) 



SONNET. 

I WOULD I knew the ladj of thy heart ? 
She whom thou lov'st perchance, as I love thee. 
She unto whom thy thoughts and wishes flee ; 
Those thoughts, in which, alas ! I bear no part. 
Oh, I have sat and sighed, thinking how fair, 
How passing beautiful, thy love must be ; 
Of mind how high, of modesty how rare ; 
And then I've wept, I've wept in agony ! 
Oh, that I might but once behold those eyes, 
That to thy enamored gaze alone seem, fair ; 
Once hear that voice, whose music still replies 
To the fond vows thy passionate accents swear : 
Oh, that I might but know the truth and die, 
Nor live in this long dream of misery ! 

(140) 



A PROMISE. 

By the pure spring, whose haunted waters flow 

Through thy sequestered dell unto the sea, 

At sunny noon, I will appear to thee : 

Not troubling the still fount with drops of woe, 

As when I last took leave of it", and thee. 

But gazing up at thee with tranquil brow. 

And eyes full of life's early happiness, 

Of strength, of hope, of joy, and tenderness. 

Beneath the shadowy tree, where thou and I 

Were wont to sit, studying the harmony 

Of gentle Shakspeare, and of Milton high. 

At sunny noon I will be heard by thee ; 

Not sobbing forth each oft-repeated sound, 

As when I last faltered them o'er to thee. 

But uttering them in the air around. 

With youth's clear, laughing voice of melody. 

(141) 



142 A PROMISE. 

On the wild shore of the eternal deep, 
Where we have strayed so oft, and stood so long 
Watching the mighty water's conquering sweep, 
And listening to their loud triumphant song. 
At sunny noon, dearest ! I'll be with thee : 
Not as when last I lingered on the strand. 
Tracing our names on the inconstant sand ; 
But in each bright thing that around shall be : 
My voice shall call thee from the ocean's breast, 
Thou'lt see my hair in its bright, showery crest, 
In its dark, rocky depths, thou'lt see my eyes. 
My form, shall be the light cloud in the skies, 
My spirit shall be with thee, warm and bright, 
And flood thee o'er with love, and hfe, and hght. 



A PROMISE. 

In the dark, lonely night, 
When sleep and silence keep their watch o'er men ; 

False love ! in thy despite, 
I will be with thee then. 
When in the world of dreams thy spirit strays. 
Seeking, in vain, the peace it finds not here, 
Thou shalt be led back to thine early days 
Of Hfe and love, and I will meet thee there. 
I'll come to thee, with the bright, sunny brow. 
That was hope's throne before I met with thee ; 
And then I'll show thee how 'tis furrowed now. 
By the untimely age of misery. 
I'll speak to thee, in the fond, joyous tone. 
That wooed thee still with love's impassioned spell ; 
And then I'll teach thee how I've learnt to moan 
Since last upon thine ear its accents fell. 

(143) 



144 A PROMISE. 

I'll come to thee in all youth's brightest power, 
As on the day thy faith to mine was plighted, 
And then I'll tell thee weary hour by hour. 
How that spring's early promise has been blighted. 
I'll tell thee of the long, long, dreary years. 
That have passed o'er me hopeless, objectless ; 
My loathsome days, my nights of burning tears, 
My wild despair, my utter loneliness. 
My heart-sick dreams upon my feverish bed. 
My fearful longing to be with the dead ; 

In the dark lonely night. 
When sleep and silence keep their watch o'er men ; 

False love 1 in thy despite, 
We two shall meet again I 



SONNET. 

Spirit of all sweet sounds! who in mid air 
Sittest enthroned, vouchsafe to hear mj prayer ! 
Let all those instruments of music sweet, 
That in great nature's hymn bear burthen meet. 
Sing round this mossy pillow, where my head 
From the bright noontide sky is sheltered. 
Thou southern wind ! wave, wave thy od'rous 

wings, 
O'er your smooth channels gush, ye crystal 

springs ! 
Ye laughing elves ! that through the rustling corn 
Run chattering ; thou tawny-coated bee. 
Who at thy honey-work sing'st drowsily ; 
And ye, oh ye ! who greet the dewy morn, 
And fragrant eventide, with melody. 
Ye wild wood minstrels, sing my lullaby ! 

(145) 



TO 



I WOULD I might be with thee, when the year 
Begins to wane, and that thou walk'st alone 
Upon the rocky strand, whilst loud and clear, 
The autumn wind sings, from his cloudy throne, 
Wild requiems for the summer that is gone. 
Or when, in sad and contemplative mood, 
Thy feet explore the leafy-paven wood : 
I would my soul might reason then with thine. 
Upon those themes most solemn and most strange. 
Which every falling leaf and fading flower. 
Whisper unto us with a voice divine ; 
FiUing the brief space of one mortal hour, 
With fearful thoughts of death, decay, and change. 
And the high mystery of that after birth. 
That comes to us, as well as to the earth. 

(146) 



SONNET. 

By jasper founts, whose falling waters make 
Eternal music to the silent hours ; 
Or 'neath the gloom of solemn cypress bowers, 
Through whose dark screen no prying sunbeams 

break : 
How oft I dream I see thee wandering. 
With thy majestic mien, and thoughtful eyes, 
And lips, whereon all holy counsel lies, 
And shining tresses of soft rippling gold, 
Like to some shape, beheld in days of old 
By seer or prophet, when, as poets sing, 
The gods had not forsaken yet the earth, 
But loved to haunt each shady dell and grove ; 
When -every breeze was the soft breath of love. 
When the blue air rang with sweet sounds of 

mirth. 
And this dark world seemed fair as at its birth. 

(147) 



THE VISION OF LIFE. 
Death and I, 



-J 



On a hill so high, 
Stood side by side : 

And we saw below, 

Running to and fro, 
All things that be in the world so wide. 

Ten thousand cries 

From the gulf did rise, 
With a wild discordant sound ; 

Laughter and waihng. 

Prayer and railing, 
As the ball spun round and round. 

And over all 
Hung a floating pall 
Of dark and gory veils : 

(148) 



THE VISION OF LIFE. 149 

'Tis the blood of years, 
And the sighs and tears. 
Which this noisome marsh exhales. 

x\ll this did seem 

Like a fearful dream, 
Till Death cried with a joyful cry : 

" Look down ! look dawn ! 

It is all mine own, 
Here comes life's pageant by ! " 

Like to a masque in ancient revelries, 
With mingling sound of thousand harmonies, 
Soft lute and viol, trumpet-blast and gong, 
They came along, and still they came along! 
Thousands, and tens of thousands, all that e'er 
Peopled the earth, or ploughed th' unfathomed deep, 
All that now breathe the universal air, 
And all that in the womb of Time yet sleep. 

Before this mighty host a woman came, 
With hurried feet, and oft averted head ; 



150 



THE VISION OF LIFE. 



With accursed light 
Her eyes were bright, 
And with inviting hand them on she beckoned. 
Her followed close, with wild acclaim. 
Her servants three : Lust, with his eye of fire, 
And burning lips, that tremble with desire. 
Pale sunken cheek: — and as he staggered bj. 
The trumpet-blast was hushed, and there arose 
A melting strain of such soft melody. 
As breathed into the soul love's ecstasies and 

woes. 
Loudly again, the trumpet smote the air. 
The double drum did roll, and to the sky 
Bayed War's bloodhounds, the deep artillery ; 
And Glory, 
With feet all gory. 
And dazzling eyes, rushed by. 
Waving a flashing sword and laurel wreath. 
The pang, and the inheritance of death. 



He passed like lightning — then ceased every sound 
Of war triumphant, and of love's sweet song. 



THE VISION OF LIFE. 151 

And all was silent. — Creeping slow along, 
With eager' eyes, that wandered round and round. 
Wild, haggard mien, and meagre, wasted frame. 
Bowed to the earth, pale, starving Av'rice came : 
Clutching with palsied hands his golden god, 
And tottering in the path the others trod. 

These, one bj one, 

Came, and were gone : 
And after them followed the ceaseless stream 
Of worshippers, who, with mad shout and scream. 
Unhallowed toil, and more unhallowed mirth. 
Follow their mistress. Pleasure, through the earth. 
Death's eyeless sockets glared upon them all, 
And many in the train were seen to fall. 
Livid and cold, beneath his empty gaze ; 
But not for this was stayed the mighty throng. 
Nor ceased the warlike clang, or wanton lays. 
But still they rushed — along — along — along ! 



SONNET. 

TO A LABY WHO WROTE UNDER MY LIKENESS AS 
JULIET, " LIETI GIORNI E FELICE." 

Whence should they come, lady! those happy 

days 
That thy fair hand and gentle heart mvoke 
Upon my head ? Alas ! such do not rise 
On any, of the many, who with sighs 
Bear through this journey-land of woe, life's yoke. 
The Hght of such hves not in thine own lays ; 
Such were not hers, that girl, so fond, so fair. 
Beneath whose image thou hast traced thy prayer. 
Evil, and few, upon this darksome earth. 
Must be the days of all of mortal birth ; 
Then why not mine ? Sweet lady ! wish again, 
Not more of joy to me, but less of pain; 
Calm slumber, when life's troubled hours are past, 
And with thy friendship cheer them while they last. 

(162) 



TO MY GUARDIAN ANGEL. 

Merciful spirit ! who tliy bright throne above 
Hast left, to wander through this dismal earth 
With me, poor child of sin ! — ^Angel of love ! 
Whose guardian wings hung o'er me from my 

birth, 
And who still walk'st unwearied by my side, 
How oft, oh thou compassionate ! must thou mourn 
Over the wayward deeds, the thoughts of pride. 
That thy pure eyes behold. Yet not aside 
From thy sad task dost thou in anger turn ; 
But patiently, thou hast but gazed and sighed, 
And followed still, striving with the divine 
Powers of thy soul for mastery over mine ; 
And though all line of human hope be past, 
Still fondly watching, hoping, to the last. 
11 



SONNET. 

SUGGESTED BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE OBSERVING 
THAT WE NEVER DREAM OF OURSELVES YOUNGER 
THAN WE ARE. 

Not in our dreams, not even in our dreams, 
May we return to that sweet land of youth. 
That home of hope, of innocence, and truth. 
Which as we farther roam but fairer seems. 
In that dim shadowy world, where the soul strays 
When she has laid her mortal charge to rest, 
We oft behold far future hours and days. 
But ne'er Hve o'er the past, the happiest. 
How oft will fancy's wild imaginings 
Bear us in sleep to times and worlds unseen. 
But ah ! not e'en unfettered fancy's wings 
Can lead us back to aught that we have been. 
Or waft us to that smihng, sunny shore. 
Which e'en in slumber we may tread no more. 

(154) 



SONNET. 

Whene'er I recollect the happj time 
When you and I held converse dear together. 
There come a thousand thoughts of sunny weather. 
Of early blossoms, and the fresh year's prime ; 
Your memory lives for ever in my mind 
With all the fragrant beauties of the spring, 
With od'rous lime and silver hawthorn twined. 
And many a noonday woodland wandering. 
There's not a thought of you, but brings along 
Some sunny dream of river, field, and sky ; 
'Tis wafted on the blackbird's sunset song. 
Or some wild snatch of ancient melody. 
And as I date it still, our love arose 
'Twixt the last violet and the earliest rose, 

<155) 



TO THE SPEING. 

Hail to thee, spirit of hope ! whom men call 

Spring ; 
Youngest and fairest of the four, who guide 
Our mortal year along Time's rapid tide. 
Spirit of life ! the old decrepit earth 
Has heard thy voice, and at a wondrous birth, 
Forth springing from her dark, mysterious womb, 
A thousand germs of light and beauty come. 
Thy breath is on the waters, and they leap 
From their bright winter-woven fetters free ; 
Along the shore their sparkhng billows sweep, 
And greet thee with a gush of melody. 
The air is full of music, wild and sweet. 
Made by the joyous waving of the trees. 
Wherein a thousand winged minstrels meet. 
And by the work-song of the early bees, 

• (156) 



TO THE SPRING. 157 

In the white blossoms fondly murmuring. 
And founts, that in the blessed sunshine sing : 
Hail to thee ! maiden with the bright blue eyes ! 
And showery robe, all steeped in starry dew ; 
Han to thee ! as thou ridest through the skies, 
Upon thy rainbow car of various hue. 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

How passing sad ! Listen, it sings again ! 

Art thou a spirit, that amongst the boughs, 
The livelong night dost chant that wondrous strain, 

Making wan Dian stoop her silver brows 
Out of the clouds to hear thee ? who shall say. 
Thou lone one ! that thy melody is gay. 
Let him come listen now to that one note. 

That thou art pouring o'er and o'er again 
Through the sweet echoes of thy mellow throat. 

With such a sobbing sound of deep, deep pain. 
I prithee cease thy song ! for from my heart 
Thou hast made memory's bitter waters start. 

And filled my weary eyes with the soul's rain. 

(158) 



SONNET. 

Lady, whom my beloved loves so well ! 

When on his clasping arm thy head reclineth, 
When on thy Ups his ardent kisses dwell, 

And the bright flood of burning light, that 
shineth 
In his dark eyes, is poured into thine ; 

When thou shalt he enfolded to his heart. 
In all the trusting helplessness of love ; 

If in such joy sorrow can find a part. 
Oh, give one sigh unto a doom like mine ! 
Which I would have thee pity, but not prove. 
One cold, calm, careless, wintry look, that fell 

Haply by chance on me, is all that he 
E'er gave my love ; round that, my wild thoughts 
dwell 

In one eternal pang of memory. 

(159) 



TO — , 

When the dawn 
O'er hill and dale 
Throws her bright veil, 

Oh, think of me ! 
When the rain 
With starrj showers 
Fills aU the flowers, 

Oh, think of me ! 
When the wind 
Sweeps along, 
Loud and strong. 

Oh, think of me ! 
When the laugh 
With silver sound 
Goes echoing round, 

Oh, think of me ! 

(160) 



TO . 161 

Wlien the night 
With solemn eyes 
Looks from the skies, 

Oh, think of me ! 
When the air 
Still as death 
Holds its breath. 

Oh, think of me ! 
When the earth 
Sleeping sound 
Swings round and round, 

Oh, think of me ! 
When thy soul 
O'er life's dark sea 
Looks gloomily. 

Oh, think of me ! 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 

A MAIDEN meek, with solemn, steadfast eyes, 

Full of eternal constancy and faith, 
And smiling lips, through whose soft portal sighs 

Truth's holy voice, with every balmy breath, 
So journeys she along life's crowded way. 

Keeping her soul's sweet counsel from all sight ; 
Nor pomp, nor vanity, lead her astray, 

Nor aught that men call dazzling, fair, or 
bright : 
For pity, sometimes, doth she pause, and stay 

Those whom she meeteth mourning, for her 
heart 

Knows well in suffering how to bear its part. 
Patiently lives she through each dreary day. 

Looking with little hope unto the morrow ; 

And still she walketh hand in hand with sorrow. 

(162) 



TO MRS. . 

I NEVER shall forget thee — 'tis a word 

Thou oft must hear, for surely there be none 
On whom thy wondrous eyes have ever shone 

But for a moment, or who e'er have heard 

Thy voice's deep impassioned melody. 

Can lose the memory of that look or tone. 

But, not as these, do I say unto thee, 
I never shall forget thee : — in thine eyes, 

Whose light, like sunshine, makes the world 
rejoice, 
A stream of sad and solemn splendor lies ; 

And there is sorrow in thy gentle voice. 

Thou art not like the scenes in which I found 
thee. 

Thou art not like the beings that surround thee ; 
To me, thou art a dream of hope and fear ; 

(163) 



164 TO MRS. . 

Yet why of fear ? — oh sure ! the Power that lent 
Such gifts, to make thee fair, and excellent ; 
Still watches one whom it has deigned to bless 
With such a dower of grace and loveliness ; 

Over the dangerous waves 'twill surely steer 
The richly freighted bark, through storm and blast, 
And guide it safely to the port at last. 
Such is my prayer ; 'tis warm as ever fell 
From off my lips : accept it, and farewell ! 
And though in this strange world where first I 

met thee, 
We meet no more — I never shall forget thee. 



AN ENTREATY. 

Once more, once more into the sunny fields 

Oh, let me stray ! 
And drink the joy that young existence yields 

In a bright, cloudless day. 

Once more let me behold the summer sky, 

With its blue eyes. 
And join the wild wind's voice of melody, 

As far and free it flies. 

Once more, once more, oh let me stand and liear 

The gushing spring, 
As its bright drops fall starlike, fast and clear, 

And in the sunshine sing. 

(165) 



166 AN ENTREATY. 

Once more, oh let me list the soft sweet breeze 

At evening mourn : 
Let me, oh let me say farewell to these, 

And to my task I gaily will return. 

Oh, lovely earth ! oh, blessed smiling sky ! 

Oh, music of the wood, the wave, the wind ! 
I do but linger till my ear and eye 

Have traced ye on the tablets of my mind — 

And then, fare ye well ! 
Bright hill and bosky dell. 
Clear spring and haunted well, 
Night-blowing flowers pale, 
Smooth lawn and lonely vale. 
Sleeping lakes and sparlding fountains. 
Shadowy woods and sheltering mountains, 
Flowery land and sunny sky. 
And echo sweet, my playmate shy ; 
Fare ye well ! — fare ye well ! 



LINES FOR MUSIC. 

Loud wind, strong wind, where art thou blowing? 
Into the air, the viewless air, 
To be lost there, 
There am I blowing. 

Clear wave, swift wave, where art thou flowing ? 
Unto the sea, the boundless sea. 
To be whelmed there, 
There am I flowing. 

Young life, swift life, where art thou going ? 

Down to the grave, the loathsome grave, 
To moulder there. 
There am I going. 

(167) 



THE PARTING. 



'TwAS a fit hour for parting, 

For athwart the leaden sky 
The heavy clouds came gathering 

And sailing gloomily : 
The earth was drunk with heaven's tears, 

And each moaning autumn breeze 
Shook the burthen of its weeping 

Off the overladen trees. 
The waterfall rushed swollen down, 

In the twilight, dim and gray; 
With a foam-wreath on the angry brow 

Of each wave that flashed away. 
My tears were minghng with the rain, 

That fell so cold and fast. 
And my spirit felt thy low deep sigh 

Through the wild and roaring blast. 

(168) 



TO . 169 

The beauty of the summer woods 

Lay rusthng round our feet, 
And all fair things had passed away — 

'Twas an hour for parting meet. 



TO 



The fountain of my life, which flowed so free, 
The plenteous waves, which brimming gushed 

along, 
Bright, deep, and swift, with a perpetual song. 
Doubtless have long since seemed dried up to thee : 
How should they not ? from the shrunk, narrow bed, 
Where once that glory flowed, have ebbed away 
Light, Hfe, and motion, and along its way 
The dull stream slowly creeps a shallow thread, — 
Yet, at the hidden source, if hands unblest 
Disturb the wells whence that sad stream takes 

birth. 
The swollen waters once again gush forth, 
Dark, bitter floods, rolling in wild unrest. 

12 



SONG. 

When you mournfully rivet your tear-laden eyes. 
That have seen the last sunset of hope pass 
away, 
On some bright orb that seems, through the still, 
sapphire skies, 
In beauty and splendor to roll on its way : 

Oh, remember this earth, if beheld from afar. 
Appears wrapt in a halo as soft, and as bright, 

As the pure silver radiance enshrining yon star. 
Where your spirit is eagerly soaring to-night. 

And at this very midnight, perhaps, some poor 
heart 
That is aching, or breaking, in that distant 
sphere ; 

(170^ 



FAITH. 171 

Gazes down on this dark world, and longs to 
depart 
From its own dismal home, to a happier one 
here. 



FAITH. 

Better trust all, and be deceived, 

And weep that trust, and that deceiving ; 

Than doubt one heart, that, if beheved, 
Had blessed one's life with true believing. 

Oh, in this mocking world, too fast 

The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth! 

Better be cheated to the last. 

Than lose the blessed Jiope of truth. 



TO A STAK. 

Thou little star, that in the purple clouds 

Hang'st, like a dewdrop, in a violet bed ; 
First gem of evening, glittering on the shrouds, 

'Mid whose dark folds the day lies pale and 
dead. 
As through my tears my soul looks up to thee, 

Loathing the heavy chains that bind it here. 
There comes a fearful thought that misery 

Perhaps is found, even in thy distant sphere. 
Art thou a world of sorrow and of sin, 

The heritage of death, disease, decay ; 
A wilderness, like that we wander in. 

Where all things fairest soonest pass away ? 
And are there graves in thee, thou radiant world. 

Round which hfe's sweetest buds fall withered, 

(172) 



TO A STAR. 173 

Where hope's bright wings in the dark earth lie 
furled, 
And living hearts are mouldering with the 
dead ? 
Perchance thej do not die, that dwell in thee, 

Perchance theirs is a darker doom than ours ; 
Unchanging woe, and endless misery. 

And mourning that hath neither days nor hours. 
Horrible dream ! — Oh dark and dismal path, 
Where I now weeping walk, I will not leave 
thee. 
Earth has one boon for all her children — death : 
Open thy arms, oh mother ! and receive me ! 
Take off the bitter burthen from the slave. 

Give me my birthright ! give — the grave, the 
grave ! 



SONNET. 

Thou poisonous laurel leaf, that in the soil 

Of life, which I am doomed to till full sore, 
Spring' st like a noisome weed ! I do not toil 
For thee, and yet thou still com'st darkening o'er 
My plot of earth with thy unwelcome shade. 
Thou nightshade of the soul, beneath whose boughs 

AU fair and gentle buds hang withering. 
Why hast thou wreathed thyself around my brows, 
Casting from thence the blossoms of my spring. 
Breathing on youth's sweet roses till they 
fade ? 
Alas ! thou art an evil weed of woe. 

Watered with tears and watched^with sleepless 

care. 
Seldom doth envy thy green glories spare ; 
And yet men covet thee — ah, wherefore do they 
so ! 

(174) 



SONNET. 

I HEAR a voice low in the sunset woods ; 
Listen, it says : " Decay, decay, decay." 

I hear it in the murmuring of the. floods, 
And the wind sighs it as it flies away. 
Autumn is come ; seest thou not in the skies 
The stormy light of his fierce, lurid eyes ? 
Autumn is come ; his brazen feet have trod. 
Withering and scorching, o'er the mossy sod. 
The fainting year sees her fresh flowery wreath 
Shrivel in his hot grasp ; his burning breath. 
Dries the sweet water-springs that in the shade 
Wandering along, delicious music made. 
A flood of glory hangs upon the world. 
Summer's bright wings shining ere they are 
furled. 

(175) 



TO 



Is it a sin, to wish that I may meet thee 
In that dim world whither our spirits stray, 
When sleep and darkness follow life and day ? 

Is it a sin, that there my voice should greet thee 
With all that love that I must die conceahng ? 
Will my tear-laden eyes sin in reveahng 

The agony that preys upon my soul ? 

Is't not enough through the long, loathsome day, 

To hold each look, and word, in stern control ? 
May I not wish the staring sunhght gone. 
Day and its thousand torturing moments done. 

And prying sights and sounds of men away ? 
Oh, still and silent Night ! when all things sleep. 
Locked in thy swarthy breast my secret keep : 
Come, with thy visioned hopes and blessings 

now ! 
I dream the only happiness I know. 

(176) 



SONNET. 

WRITTEN AT FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING, AFTER 

A BALL. 

Oh, modest maiden morn! why dost thou blush, 

Who thus betimes art walking in the sky ? 
'Tis I, whose cheek bears pleasure's sleepless 
flush. 
Who shame to meet thy gray, cloud-hdded eye, 
Shadowy, yet clear : from the bright eastern door. 
Where the sun's shafts lie bound with thongs 
of fire, 
Along the heaven's amber paved floor. 

The glad hours move, hymning their early 
choir. 
0, fair and fragrant morn ! upon my brow 

Press thy fresh lips, shake from thy dropping 
hair 

(177) 



178 IMPROMPTU. 

Cold showers of balmy dew on me, and ere 

Day's cliarioir-wheels upon the horizon glow, 
Wrap me within thy sober cloak of gray. 
And bear me to thy twilight bowers away. 



IMPROMPTU, 

WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE SONNENBERG. 

Thou who within thyself dost not behold 
Ruins as great as these, though not as old. 
Canst scarce through Hfe have travelled many a 

year, 
Or lack'st the spirit of a pilgrim here. 
Youth hath its walls of strength, its towers of 

pride, 
Love, its warm hearth-stones, hope, its prospects 

wide. 
Life's fortress in thee, held these one, and all, 
And they have fallen to ruin, or shall fall. 



LINES, 

IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION. 

I'll tell thee why this weary world meseemeth 
But as the visions light of one who dreameth, 
Which pass like clouds, leaving no trace behind ; 
Why this strange life, so full of sin and folly, 
In me awakeneth no melancholy, 
Nor leaveth shade, or sadness, on my mind. 
'Tis not that with an undiscerning eye 
I see the pageant wild go dancing by. 
Mistaking that which falsest is, for true ; 
'Tis not that pleasure hath entwined me, 
'Tis not that sorrow hath enshrined me ; 
I bear, no badge of roses or of rue, 

But in the inmost chambers of my soul 

* 

There is another world, a blessed home. 
O'er which no living power holdeth control, 
Anigh to which ill things do never come. 

(179) 



180 



LINES. 



There shineth the glad sunlight of clear thought, 
With hope, and faith, holding communion high, 
Over a fragrant land with flowers ywrought. 
Where gush the living springs of poesj, 
There speak the voices that I love to hear, 
There smile the glances that I love to see, 
There Hve the forms of those mj soul holds dear. 
For ever, in that secret world, with me. 
They who have walked with me along life's way. 
And severed been by fortune's adverse tide, 
Who ne'er again, through time's uncertain day. 
In weal or woe, may wander by my side ; 
These all dwell here : nor these, whom life alone 
Divideth from me, but the dead, the dead ; 
Those weary ones who to their rest are gone, 
Whose footprints from the earth have vanished ; 
Here dwell they all : and here, within this world. 
Like light within a summer sun-cloud furled. 
My spirit dwells. Therefore, this evil life, 
With all its gilded snares, and fair deceivings. 
Its wealth, its want, its pleasures, and its griev- 
ings, 



LINES FOR MUSIC. 181 

Nor frights, nor frets me, by its idle strife. 
thou ! who readest of thy courtesy. 
Whoe'er thou art, I wish the same to thee ! 



LINES FOR MUSIC. 

Oh, sunny Love ! 
Crowned with fresh flowering May, 

Breath hke the Indian clove, 
Eyes like the dawn of day ; 
Oh, sunny Love ! 

Oh, fatal Love ! 
Thy wreath is nightshade all. 
With gloomy cypress wove. 
Thy kiss is bitter gall. 

Oh, fatal Love ! 



A FAREWELL, 

I SHALL come no more to the Cedar Hall, 
The fairies' palace, beside the stream ; 

Where the yellow sun rays at morning fall 
Through their tresses dark, with a mellow 
gleam. 

I shall tread no more the thick dewy lawn, 
When the young moon hangs on the brow of 
night. 

Nor see the morning, at early dawn. 

Shake the fading stars from her robes of light. 

I shall fly no more on my fiery steed, 

O'er the springing sward, — through the twilight 
wood ; 

Nor rein my courser, and check my speed. 
By the lonely grange, and the haunted flood. 

(182) 



IMPROMPTU. 183 

At fragrant noon, I shall lie no more 

'Neath the oak's broad shade, in the leafy 
deU: 

The sun is set, — ^the day is o'er, — 

The summer is past ; — farewell ! — farewell ! 



IMPEOMPTU. 

You say you're glad I write — -oh, say not so ! 

My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well ; 
And when the numbers freely from it flow, 

'Tis that my heart and eyes o'erflow as well. 

Castalia, famed of yore, — the spring divine, 
Apollo's smile upon its current wears : 

Moore and Anacreon found its waves were wine. 
To me it flows a sullen stream of tears. 



TO A PICTURE. 

Oh, serious eyes! how is it that the light, 

The burning rays, that mine pour into ye, 

Still fi^d ye cold, and dead, and dark, as night — 

Oh, lifeless eyes ! can ye not answer me ? 

Oh, hps ! whereon mine own so often dwell, 

Hath love's warm, fearful, thrilling touch, no spell 

To waken sense in ye ? — oh, misery ! 

Oh, breathless hps ! can ye not speak to me ? 

Thou soulless mimicry of life ! my tears 

Fall scalding over thee ; in vain, in vain ; 

I press thee to my heart, whose hopes, and fears. 

Are all thine own ; thou dost not feel the strain. 

Oh, thou dull image ! wilt thou not reply 

To my fond prayers, and wild idolatry ? 

* (184) 



SONNET. 

There's not a fibre in my trembling frame 
That does not vibrate when thy step draws near. 
There's not a pulse that throbs not when I hear 
Thy voice, thy breathing, nay, thy very name. 
When thou art with me, every sense seems dull, 
And all I am, or know, or feel, is thee ;' 
My soul grows 'faint, my veins run liquid flame, 
And my bewildered spirit seems to swim 
In eddying whirls of passion, dizzily. 
When thou art gone, there creeps into my heart 
A cold and bitter consciousness of pain : 
The light, the warmth of life, with thee depart. 
And I sit dreaming o'er and o'er again 
Thy greeting clasp, thy parting look, and tone ; 
And suddenly I wake- — and am alone. 
13 



AN INVITATION. 

Come where the white waves dance along the 

shore 
Of some lone isle, lost in the unknown seas ; 
AVhose golden sands by mortal foot before 
Were never printed, — where the fragrant breeze, 
That never swept o'er land or flood that man 
Could caU his own, th' unearthly breeze shall fan 
Our mingled tresses with its odorous sighs ; 
Where the eternal heaven's blue, sunny eyes 
Did ne'er look down on human shapes of earth, 
Or aught of mortal mould and death-doomed 

birth : 
Come there with me ; and when we are alone 
In that enchanted desert, where the tone 
Of earthly voice, or language, yet did ne'er 
With its strange music startle the still air, 

(186) 



AN INVITATION. 187 

When clasped in thy upholding arms I stand, 
Upon that bright world's coral-cradled strand. 
When I can hide my face upon thy breast, 
While thy heart answers mine together pressed, 
Then fold me closer, bend thy head above me, 
Listen — and I will tell thee how I love thee. 



SONG. 

Never, oh, never more ! shall I behold 

Thy form so fair ; 
Or loosen from its braids the rippling gold 

Of thy long hair. 

Never, oh never more ! shall I be blest 

By thy voice low, 
Or kiss, while thou art sleeping on my breast, 

Thy marble brow. 

Never, oh never more ! shall I inhale 

Thy fragrant sighs, 
Or gaze, with fainting soul, upon the veil 

Of thy bright eyes. 

(188) 



LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD. 

Oh child ! who to this evil world art come, 
Led by the unseen hand of Him who guards 
thee, 

Welcome unto this dungeon-house, thy home ! 
Welcome to all the woe this life awards thee ! 

Upon thy forehead yet the badge of sin 

Hath worn no trace ; thou look'st as though 
from heaven, 

But pain, and guilt, and misery lie within ; 
Poor exile ! from thy happy birth-land driven. 

Thine eyes are sealed by the soft hand of sleep, 
And hke unruffled waves thy slumber seems ; 

The time's at hand when thou must wake to weep, 
Or sleeping, walk a restless' world of dreams. 

(189) 



190 LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD. 

How oft, as day by day life's burthen lies 
Heavier and darker on thy fainting soul, 

Wilt thou towards heaven turn thy weary eyes. 
And long in bitterness to reach the goal. 

How oft wilt thou, upon Time's flinty road, 
Gaze at thy far-off early days, in vain ; 

Weeping, how oft wilt thou cast down thy 
load, 
And curse and pray, then take it up again. 

How many times shall the fiend Hope, extend 
Her poisonous chalice to thy thirsty Hps ! 

How oft shall Love its withering sunshine lend. 
To leave thee only a more dark eclipse ! 

How oft shall Sorrow strain thee in her grasp, — 
How oft shall Sin laugh at thine overthrow — 

How oft shall Doubt, Despair, and Anguish 
clasp 
Their knotted arms around thine aching brow ! 



SONNET. 191 

Oh, living soul, hail to thy narrow cage ! 

Spirit of light, hail to thy gloomy cave ! 
Welcome to longing youth, to loathing age, 

Welcome, immortal! welcome to the grave! 



SONNET. 



5? 
'5 



Say thou not sadly, " never," and " no more, 

But from thy lips banish those falsest words ; 
While life remains that which was thine before 
Again may be thine ; in Time's storehouse lie 
Days, hours, and moments, that have unknown 
hoards 
Of joy, as well as sorrow : passing by. 
Smiles come with tears ; therefore with hopeful eye 
Look thou on dear things, though they turn away, 
For thou and they, perchance, some future day 
Shall meet again, and the gone bliss return ; 
For its departure then make thou no mourn. 
But with stout heart bid what thou lov'st farewell ; 
That which the past hath given the future gives 
as well. 



A RETROSPECT. 

Life wanes, and the bright sunlight of our youth 

Sets o'er the mountain-tops, where once Hope 
stood. 
Oh, Innocence ! oh, Trustfulness ! oh. Truth ! 

Where are ye all, white-handed sisterhood, 
Who with me on my way did walk along. 
Singing sweet scraps of that immortal song 
That's hymned in Heaven, but hath no echo here ? 
Are ye departing, fellows bright and clear, 

Of the young spirit, when it first ahghts 
Upon this earth of darkness and dismay? 
Farewell ! fair children of th' eternal day. 

Blossoms of that far land where fall no blights. 
Sweet kindred of my exiled soul, farewell ! 
Here I must wander, here ye may not dwell ; 
Back to your home beyond the founts of hght 
I see ye fly, and I am wrapt in night. 

(192) 



AN INVOCATION. 

Spirit, bright spirit! from thy narrow cell 
Answer me ! answer me ! oh, let me hear 
Thy voice, and know that thou indeed art 
near ! 

That from the bonds in which thou'rt forced to 
dwell 
Thou hast not broken free, thou art not fled. 
Thou hast not pined away, thou art not dead. 

Speak to me through thy prison bars ; my life, 

With all things round, is one eternal strife, 

'Mid whose wild din I pause to hear thy voice ; 
Speak to me, look on me, thou born of light ! 

That I may know thou'rt with me, and rejoice. 

Shall not this weary warfare pass away ? 

Shall there not come a better, brighter day ? 
Shall not thy chain and mine be broken quite ? 

(193) 



194 AJJ INVOCATION. 

And thou to heaven spring, 
With thine immortal wing, 
And I, still following. 
With steps that do not tire, 
Reach mj desire. 
And to thj worship bring 
Some worthy offering. 
Oh ! let but these dark days be once gone by, 
And thou, unwilHng captive, that dost strain. 
With tiptoe longing, vainly, towards the sky. 

O'er the whole kingdom of my life shalt reign. 
But, while I'm doomed beneath the yoke to bow, 

Of sordid toiling in these caverns drear, 
Oh, look upon me sometimes with thy brow 

Of shining brightness ; sometimes let me hear 
Thy blessed voice, singing the songs of heaven. 
Whence thou and I, together, have been driven ; 
Give me assurance that thou still art nigh. 
Lest I sink down beneath my load, and die. 



A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON. 

The waterfall is calling me 
With its merry gleesome flow, 

And the green boughs are beckoning me, 
To where the wild flowers grow : 

I may not go, I may not go, 

To where the sunny waters flow, 

To where the wild wood flowers blow ; 

I must stay here 

In prison drear; 
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on. 
Would God that thou wert done ! 

The busy mill-wheel round and round 
Goes turning, with its reckless sound, 
And o'er the dam the waters flow 
Into the foaming stream below, 

(195) 



196 A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON. 

And deep and dark, away they glide, 
To meet the broad, bright river's tide ; 

And all the way 

They murmuring say : 

" Oh, child ! why art thou far away ? 

Come back into the sun, and stray 

Upon our mossy side ! " 

I may not go, I may not go, 

To where the gold green waters run, 
All shining, in the summer's sun, 
And leap from off the dam below 
Into a whirl of boihng snow, 
Laughing and shouting as they go ; 
I must stay here 
In prison drear; 
Oh, heavy Hfe, wear on, wear on, 
Would God that thou wert done ! 

The soft spring wind goes passing by. 
Into the forests wide and cool ; 



A LAMENT FOE THE WISSAHICCON. 197 

The clouds go trooping through the sky, 

To look down on some glassy pool ; 
The sunshine makes the world rejoice, 
And all of them, with gentle voice, 

Call me away. 

With them to stay, 
The blessed, hvelong summer's day. 

I may not go, I may not go. 

Where the sweet breathing spring winds blow. 

Nor where the silver clouds go by, 

Across the holy, deep blue sky. 

Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright. 

Comes down like a still shower of light ; 

I must stay here 

In prison drear; 
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on. 
Would God that thou wert done ! 

Oh, that I were a thing with wings ! 
A bird, that in a May-hedge sings ! 
A lonely heather bell that swings 



198 LINES FOR MUSIC. 

Upon some wild hill-side ; 
Or even a silly, senseless stone, 
With dark, green, starry moss o'ergrown, 

Round which the waters glide. 



LINES FOE, MUSIC. 

Good night ! from music's softest spell 
Go to thy dreams : and in thy slumbers, 

Fairies, with magic harp and shell. 

Sing o'er to thee thy own sweet numbers. 

Good night ! from hope's intense desire 
Go to thy dreams : and may to-morrow, 

Love, with the sun returning, fire 

These evening mists of doubt and sorrow. 

Good night ! from hours of weary waking 
I'll to my dreams : still in my sleep 

^0 feel the spirit's restless aching. 

And even with eyelids closed, to weep. 



TO THE WISSAHICCON. 

My feet shall tread no more thy mossy side, 

When once they turn away, thou Pleasant Water, 
Nor ever more, reflected in thy tide, 

Will shine the eyes of the White Island's 
daughter. 
But often in my dreams, when I am gone 

Beyond the sea that parts thy home and mine. 

Upon thy banks the evening sun will shine. 
And I shall hear thy low, still flowing on. 
And when the burthen of existence Hes 

Upon my soul, darkly and heavily, 
I'll clasp my hands over my weary eyes. 

Thou Pleasant Water, and thy clear waves see. 
Bright be thy course for ever and for ever, 

Child of pure mountain springs, and mountain 
snow ; 

(199) 



200 TO THE WISSAHICCON. 

And as thou wanderest on to meet the river, 

Oh, still in light and music mayst thou flow ! 
I never shall come back to thee again. 
When once my sail is shadowed on the main. 
Nor ever shall I hear thy laughing voice 
As on their rippling way, thy waves rejoice, 
Nor ever see the dark green cedar throw 
Its gloomy shade o'er the clear depths below. 
Never, from stony rifts of granite gray. 
Sparkling like diamond rocks in the sun's ray. 
Shall I look down on thee, thou pleasant stream. 
Beneath whose crystal folds the gold sands gleam ; 
Wherefore, farewell ! but whensoe'er again 

The wintry spell melts from the earth and air; 
And the young Spring comes dancing through 
thy glen, 
With fragrant, flowery breath, and sunny hair ; 
When through the snow the scarlet berries gleam. 
Like jewels strewn upon thy banks, fair stream. 
My spirit shall through many a summer's day 
Return, among thy peaceful woods to stray. 



AN EVENING SONG. 

Good night, love ! 
May heaven's brightest stars watch over thee ! 
Good angels spread their wings, and cover thee ; 
And through the night, 

So dark and still, 
Spirits of light 

Charm thee from ill ! 
My heart is hovering round thy dwelling-place, 
Good night, dear love ! God bless thee with his 
grace ! 

Good night, love ! 
Soft lullabies the night-wind sing to thee !, 
And on its wings sweet odors bring to the ' 
And in thy dreaming 
May all things dear, 
14 



202 AN EVENING SONG. 

With gentle seeming, 
Come smiling near ! 
My knees are bowed, my hands are clasped in 

prayer — 
Good night, dear love 1 God keep thee in his 
care ! 



THE DEATH-SONG. 

Mother, mother ! my heart is wild, 
Hold me upon jour bosom dear, 

Do not frown on jour own poor child, 
Death is darklj drawing near. 

Mother, mother ! the bitter shame 

Eats into mj verj soul ; 
And longing love, like a wrapping flame, 

Burns me awaj without control. 

Mother, mother ! upon mj brow 

The clammj death-sweats coldlj rise ; 

How dim and strange jour features grow 
Through the hot mist that veils mj ejes. 

(203) 



204 THE DEATH-SONa. 

Mother, mother ! sing me the song 
They sing on sunny August eves, 

The rustling barley fields along. 
Binding up the ripe, red sheaves. 

Mother ! mother ! I do not hear 

Your voice — ^but his — oh, guard me well ! 

His breathing makes me faint with fear. 
His clasping arms are round me still. 

Mother, mother ! unbind my vest. 
Upon my heart lies his first token : 

Now lay me in my narrow nest. 

Your withered blossom, crushed and broken. 



WEITTEN AFTER LEAVING WEST POINT. 

The hours are past, love, 
Oh, fled they not too fast, love ! 
Those happy hours, when down the mountain-side, 
We saw the rosy mists of morning glide. 
And hand in hand, went forth upon our way. 
Full of young Hfe and hope, to meet the day. 

The hours are past, love. 
Oh, fled they not too fast, love ! 
Those sunny hours, when from the midday heat. 
We sought the waterfall with loitering feet, 
And o'er the rocks that lock the gleaming pool. 
Crept down into its depths, so dark and cool. 

The hours are past, love. 

Oh, fled they not too fast, love ! 

(205) 



206 WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING WEST POINT. 

Those solemn hours, when through the violet sky, 
Alike without a cloud, without a ray, 
The round red autumn moon came glowingly, 
While o'er the leaden waves our boat made way. 

The hours are past, love, 
Oh, fled they not too fast, love ! 
Those blessed hours, when the bright day was 
past. 
And in the world we seemed to wake alone, 
When heart to heart beat throbbingly, and fast. 
And love was melting our two souls in one. 



"'TIS AN OLD TALE AND OFTEN TOLD." 

Aeb they indeed the bitterest tears we shed 

Those we let fall over the silent dead ? 

Can our thoughts image forth no darker doom, 

Than that which wraps us in the peaceful tomb ? 

Whom have ye laid beneath that mossy grave, 

Round which the slender, sunny grass-blades wave ? 

Who are ye calling back to tread again 

This weary walk of life ? towards whom, in vain, 

Are your fond eyes and yearning hearts upraised ; 

The young, the loved, the honored, and the 

praised ? 
Come hither ;— -look upon the faded cheek 
Of that still woman, who with eyelids meek 
Veils her most mournful eyes ; — upon her brow 
Sometimes the sensitive blood will faintly glow, 

(207) 



208 "'tis an old tale and often told." 

When reckless hands her heart-wounds roughly 

tear, 
But patience oftener sits palely there. 
Beauty has left her — ^hope and joy have long 
Fled from her heart, yet she is young, is young ; 
Has many years, as human tongues would tell, 
Upon the face of this blank earth to dwell. 
Looks she not sad ? 'tis but a tale of old, 
Told o'er and o'er, and ever to be told, 
The hourly story of our every day. 
Which when men hear they sigh and turn away ; 
A tale too trite almost to find an ear, 
A woe too common to deserve a tear. 
She is the daughter of a distant land ; — 
Her kindred are far off; — her maiden hand. 
Sought for by many, was obtained by one 
Who owned a different birthland from her own. 
But what recked she of that ? as low she knelt 
Breathing her marriage vows, her fond heart felt, 
"For thee, I give up country, home, and friends; 
Thy love for each, for all, shall make amends ; " 
And was she loved ? — perishing by her side 



" ^TIS AN OLD TALE AND OFTEN TOLD." 209 

The children of her bosom drooped and died ; 
The bitter life they drew from her cold breast 
Flickered and failed ; — she laid them down to 

rest : 
Two pale young blossoms in their early sleep ; 
And weeping, said, " They have not lived to 

weep." 
And weeps she yet ? no, to her weary eyes. 
The bliss of tears, her frozen heart denies ; 
Complaint, or sigh, breathes not upon her lips. 
Her life is one dark, fatal, deep eclipse. 
Lead her to the green grave where ye have laid 
The creature that ye mourn ; — let it be said : 
" Here love, and youth, and beauty, are at rest!" 
She only sadly murmurs, " Blest ! — ^most blest ! " 
And turns from gazing, lest her misery 
Should make her sin, and pray to Heaven to die. 



FKAGMENT. 

FROM AN EPISTLE WRITTEN WHEN THE THERMOMETER 
STOOD AT 98° IN THE SHADE. 



Oh! for the temperate airs that blow 

Upon that darling of the sea. 
Where neither sunshine, rain, or snow, 

For three dajs hold supremacy ; 
But ever-varying skies contend 
The blessings of all climes to lend. 
To make that tiny, wave-rocked isle, 
In never-fading beauty smile. 
England, oh England ! for the breeze 
That slowly stirs thy forest trees ! 
Thy ferny brooks, thy mossy fountains. 
Thy beechen woods, thy heathery mountains. 
Thy lawny uplands, where the shadow 

Of many a giant oak is sleeping ; 

(210) 



FRAGMENT. 211 

The tangled copse, the sunny meadow, 

Through which the summer rills run weeping. 
Oh, land of flowers ! while sinking here 

Beneath the dog-star of the West, 
The music of the waves I hear 

That cradle thee upon their breast. 
Fresh o'er thj rippling corn-fields fly 

The wild winged breezes of the sea. 
While from thy smiling, summer sky. 

The ripening sun looks tenderly. 
And thou — to whom through all this heat 

My parboiled thoughts still fondly turn. 
Oh ! in what " shady blest retreat " 

Art thou ensconced, while here I burn ? 
Across the lawn, in the deep glade, 
Where hand in hand we oft have strayed, 
Or communed sweetly, side by side, 
Hear'st thou the chiming ocean tide, 
As gently on the pebbly beach 

It lays its head, then ebbs away. 
Or round the rocks, with nearer reach, 

Throws up a cloud of silvery spray? 



212 FRAGMENT. 

Or to the firrj woods, that shed 

Their spicy odors to the sun, 
Goest thou with meditative tread. 

Thinking of all things that are done 
Beneath the sky? — a great, big thought, 

Of which I know you're very fond. 
For me, my mind is solely wrought 

To this one wish : — ! in a pond 
Would I were over head and ears ! 
. (Of a cold ducking I've no fears,) 
Or any where, where I am not ; 

For, bless the heat ! it is too hot ! 



AN APOLOGY. 

Blame not my tears, love, to you has been given 

The brightest, best gift, God to mortals allows ; 

The sunlight of hope on your heart shines from 

Heaven, 

And shines from your heart, on this life and 

its woes. 

Blame not my tears, love, on you her best treasure 
Kind nature has lavished, oh, long be it yours ! 
For how barren soe'er be the path you now meas- 
ure. 
The future still woos you with hands full of 
flowers. 

Oh, ne'er be that gift, love, withdrawn from thy 
keeping ! 
The jewel of life, its strong spirit, its wings ; 

(213) 



214 AN APOLOGY. 

If thou ever must weep, may it shine through 
thy weeping, 
As the sun his warm rays through a spring 
shower flings. 

But blame not my tears, love, to me 'twas de- 
nied. 
And when Fate to my lips gave this life's 
mingled cup. 
She had filled to the brim, from the dark bitter 
tide. 
And forgotten to pour in the only sweet drop. 



WRITTEN AFTER SPENDING A DAY AT 
WEST POINT. 

Weee they but dreams ? Upon the darkening 

world 
Evening comes down, the wings of fire are furled, 
On which the day soared to the sunny west: 
The moon sits calmly, like a soul at rest. 
Looking upon the never-resting- earth ; 
All things in heaven wait on the solemn birth 
Of night, but where has fled the happy dream 
That at this hour, last night, our Hfe did seem ? 
Where are the mountains with their tangled hair. 
The leafy hollow, and the rocky stair ? 
Where are the shadows of the solemn hills, 
And the fresh music of the summer rills ? 
Where are the wood-paths, winding, long, and 

steep, 
And the great, glorious river, broad and deep, 

(216) 



216 A DAY AT WEST POINT. 

And the thick copses, where soft breezes meet. 
And the wild torrent's snowy, leaping feet. 
The rustling, rocking boughs, the running streams, — 
Where are they all ? gone, gone ! were they but 

dreams ? 
And where, oh where are the light footsteps gone, 
That from the mountain-side came dancing down ? 
The voices full of mirth, the loving eyes, 
The happy hearts, the human paradise, 
The youth, the love, the life that revelled here, — 
Are they too gone ? — Upon Time's shadowy bier, 
The pale, cold hours of joys now past, are laid. 
Perhaps, not soon from memory's gaze to fade, 
But never to be reckoned o'er again. 
In all Hfe's future store of bliss and pain. 
From the bright eyes the sunshine may depart, 
Youth flies^— love dies — and from the joyous heart 
Hope's gushing fountain ebbs too soon away. 
Nor spares one drop for that disastrous day. 
When from the barren waste of after life. 
The weariness, the worldliness, the strife, 
The soul looks o'er the desert of its way 



SONNET. 217 

To the green gardens of its early day : 

The paradise, for which we vainly mourn, 

The heaven, to which our hngering eyes still turn. 

To which our footsteps never shall return. 



SONNET. 

Blaspheme not thou thy sacred life, nor turn 
O'er joys that God hath for a season lent, 
Perchance to try thy spirit, and its bent, 
Effeminate soul and base ! weakly to mourn ; 
There lies no desert in the land of life, 
For e'en that tract that barrenest doth seem. 
Labored of thee in faith and hope, shall teem 
With heavenly harvests and rich gatherings, rife. 
Haply no more, music and mirth and love. 
And glorious things of old and younger art, 
Shall of thy days make one perpetual feast. 
But when these bright companions all depart. 
Lay thou thy head upon the ample breast 
Of Hope, and thou shalt hear the angels sing 
above. 

15 



SONG. 

Pass thy hand through my hair, love ; 

One httle year ago, 
In a curtain bright and rare, love, 

It fell golden o'er my brow. 
But the gold has passed away, love, 

And the drooping curls are thin, 
And cold threads of wintry gray, love. 
Gutter their folds within : 
How should this be, in one short year ? 
It is not age — can it be care ? 

Fasten thine eyes on mine, love ; 

One httle year ago. 
Midsummer's sunny shine, love, 

Had not a warmer glow. 

(218) 



SONG. 219 

But the light is there no more, love, 

Save in melancholy gleams, 
Like wan moonlight wand'ring o'er, love. 
Dim lands in troubled dreams : 
How should this be, in one short year ? 
It is not age — can it be care ? 

Lay thy cheek to my cheek, love ; 

One little year ago , 
It was ripe, and round, and sleek, love. 

As the autumn peaches grow. 
But the rosy hue has fled, love, 

Save a flush that goes and comes. 
Like a flower born from the dead, love. 

And blooming over tombs : 
How should this be, in one short year ? 
It is not age — can it be care ? 



TO MRS. DULANEY. 

What was thine errand here ? 
Thy beauty was more exquisite than aught 

That from this marred earth 

Takes its imperfect birth. 
It was a radiant, heavenly beauty, caught 

From some far higher sphere, 
And though an angel now, thou still must bear 
The lovely semblance that thou here didst wear. 

What was thine errand here ? 
Thy gentle thoughts, and holy, humble mind. 

With earthly creatures coarse, 

Held not discourse. 
But with fine spirits, of some purer kind, 

Dwelt in communion dear ; 
And sure they speak to thee that language now. 
Which thou wert wont to speak to us, below. 

(220) 



TO MRS. DULANEY. 221 

What was thine errand here ? 
To adorn anguish, and ennoble death, 

And make infirmity 

A patient victory. 
And crown hfe's baseness with a glorious wreath. 

That fades not on thy bier. 
But fits, immortal soul ! thy triumph still, 
In that bright world where thou art gone to 
dwell. 



LINES, 

ADDKESSED TO THE YOUNG GENTLEMEN LEAVING THE 
ACADEMY AT LENOX, MASSACHUSETTS. 

Life is before je — and while now je stand 

Eager to spring upon the promised land, 

Fair smiles the way, where yet your feet have 

trod 
But few light steps, upon a flowery sod ; 

1 Round ye are youth's green bowers, and to your 

I eyes 

iTh' horizon's hne joins earth with the bright skies ; 
Daring and triumph, pleasure, fame, and joy, 
Friendship unwavering, love without alloy. 
Brave thoughts of noble deeds, and glory won. 
Like angels, beckon ye to venture on. 
And if o'er the bright scene some shadows rise, 
Far off they seem, at hand the sunshine lies. 

(222) 



LINES. 223 

The distant clouds which of ye pause to fear ? 
Shall not a brightness gild them when more 

near? 
Dismay and doubt ye know not, for the power 
Of youth is strong within ye at this hour, 
And the great mortal conflict seems to ye 
Not so much strife as certain victory — 
A glory ending in eternity. 

Life is before ye — oh ! if ye could look 

Into the secrets of that sealed book, 

Strong as ye are in youth, and hope, and faith. 

Ye should sink down, and falter, " Give us 

death ! " 
Could the dread Sphinx's lips but once disclose, 
And utter but a whisper of the woes 
Which must o'er take ye, in your lifelong doom, 
Well might ye cry, " Our cradle be our tomb ! " 
Could ye foresee your spirit's broken wings. 
Earth's brightest triumphs what despised things. 
Friendship how feeble, love how fierce a flame, 
Your joy half sorrow, half your glory shame. 



224 LINES. 

HoUowness, weariness, and, worst of all, 
Self-scorn that pities, not its own deep fall. 
Fast gathering darkness, and fast waning light, 
Oh could ye see it all, ye might, ye might 
Cowfer in the dust, unequal to the strife. 
And die, but in beholding what is life. 

Life is before ye — from the fated road 

Ye cannot turn: then take ye up your load. 

Not yours to tread, or leave the unknown way. 

Ye must go o'er it, meet ye what ye may. 

Gird up your souls within ye to the deed. 

Angels, and fellow-spirits, bid ye speed ! 

What though the brightness dim, the pleasure 

fade, 
The glory wane, — oh ! not of these is made 
The awful hfe that to your trust is given. 
Children of God ! inheritors of heaven ! 
Mourn not the perishing of each fair toy. 
Ye were ordained to do, not to enjoy, 
To suffer, which is nobler than to dare ; 
A sacred burthen is this life ye bear, 



LINES. 225 

Look on it, lift it, bear it solemnly, 
Stand up and walk beneath it steadfastly ; 
Fail not for sorrow, falter not for sin. 
But onward, upward, till the goal ye win ; 
God guard ye, and God. guide ye on your ^ way. 
Young pilgrim warriors wbo set forth to-day. 



THE PEAYER OF A LONELY HEAET. 



I AM alone — oh be thou near to me, 
Great God ! from whom the meanest are not far. 
Not in presumption of the daring spirit, 
Striving to find the secrets of itself. 
Make I my weeping prayer ; in the deep want 
Of utter loneliness, my God ! I seek thee ; 
If the worm may creep up to thy fellowship. 
Or dust, instinct with yearning, rise towards thee. 
I have no fellow. Father ! of my kind ; 
None that be kindred, none companion to me, 
And the vast love, and harmony, and brotherhood. 
Of the dumb creatures thou hast made below me, 
Vexes my soul with its own bitter lot. 
Around me grow the trees, each by the other ; 
Innumerable leaves, each hke the other, 
Whisper and breathe, and hve and move together. 

(226) 



THE PRAYER OF A LONELY HEART. 227 

Around me spring tlie flowers ; each rosy cup 

Hath sisters leaning their fair cheeks against it. 

The birds fly all above me ; not alone, 

But coupled in free fellowship, or mustering 

A joyous band, sweeping in companies 

The wide blue fields between the clouds; — the 

clouds 
Troop in society, each on the other 
Shedding, like sympathy, reflected light. 
The waves, a multitude, together run 
To the great breast of the receiving sea : 
Nothing but hath its kind, its company. 
Oh God ! save I alone ! — then, let me come, 
Good Father! to thy feet, when even as now. 
Tears, that no human hand is near to wipe, 
O'erbrim my eyes, oh wipe them, thou, my 

Father ! 
When in my heart the stores of its afiections, 
Piled up unused, locked fast, are like to burst 
The fleshly casket, that may not contain them. 
Let me come nigh to thee ; — accept them thou, 



228 THE PKAYER OF A LONELY HEAET. 

Dear Father ! — Fount of Love ! Compassionate 

God ! 
When in mj spirit burns the fire, the power. 
That have made men utter the words of angels, 
And none are near to bid me speak and five : 
Hearken, oh Father ! maker of my spirit ! 
God of my soul, to thee I will outpour 
The hymns resounding through my troubled mind, 
The sighs and sorrows of my lonely heart. 
The tears, and weeping, of my weary eyes : 
Be thou my feUow, glorious, gracious God ! 
And fit me for such fellowship with thee ! 



ABSENCE, 

What shall I do with all the days and hours 
That must be counted ere I see thy face ? 

How shall I charm the interval that lowers 
Between this time and that sweet time of 
grace ? 

Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, 
Weary with longing ? — shall I flee away 

Into past days, and with some fond pretence 
Cheat myself to forget the present day ? 

Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin 
Of casting from me God's great gift of time ; 

Shall I these mists of memory locked within. 
Leave, and forget life's purposes sublime ? 

(229) 



230 



ABSENCE. 



Oh ! how, or by what means, may I contrive 
To bring the hour that brings thee back more 
near ? 

How may I teach my drooping hope to live 
Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? 

I'll tell thee : for thy sake, I will lay hold 
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, 

In worthy deeds, each moment that is told 
While thou, beloved one! art far from me. 

For thee, I will arouse my thoughts to try 
All heavenward flights, all high and holy 
strains ; 
For thy dear sake I will walk patiently 

Through these long hours, nor call their min- 
utes pains. 



I will this dreary blank of absence make 
A noble task-time, and will therein strive 

To follow excellence, and to o'ertake 

More good than I have won, siace yet I live. 



SONNET. 231 

So may this doomed time build up in me 
A thousand graces which shall thus be thine ; 

So may my love and longing hallowed be, 
And thy dear thought an influence divine. 

SONNET. 

But to be still ! oh, but to cease awhile 

The panting breath and hurrying steps of life, 
The sights, the sounds, the struggle, and the 
strife 
Of hourly being ; the sharp, biting file 
Of action, fretting on the tightened chain 
Of rough existence ; all that is not pain. 
But utter weariness ; oh ! to be free 
But for a while from conscious entity ! 
To shut the banging doors and windows wide. 
Of restless sense, and let the soul abide 
Darkly and stilly, for a little space. 
Gathering its strength up to pursue the race ; 
Oh, heavens ! to rest a moment, but to rest 
From this quick, gasping life, were to be blest ! 



EETURN. 

When the bright sun back on his yearly road 
Comes towards us, his great glory seems to 
me, 

As from the sky he pours it all abroad, 
A golden herald, my beloved, of thee. 

When from the south the gentle winds do blow, 
Calling the flowers that sleep beneath the 
earth, 

It sounds like sweetest music, that doth go 
Before thy coming, full of love and mirth. 

When one by one the violets appear. 
Opening their purple vests so modestly. 

To greet the virgin daughter of the year. 
Each seems a fragrant prophecy of thee. 

(232) 



KETURN^. 233 

For with the spring thou shalt return again ; 

Therefore the wind, the flower, and clear sun- 
shine, 
A double worship from mj heart obtain, 

A love and welcome not their own, but thine. 



16 



LINES, 

WRITTEN IN LONDON. 

Struggle not with thj life ! — the heavy doom 
Resist not, it will bow thee hke a slave : 

Strive not ! thou shalt not conquer ; to thy tomb 
Thou shalt go crushed, and ground, though 
ne'er so brave. 

Complain not of thy life ! — for what art thou 
More than thy fellows, that thou should'st not 
weep ? 

Brave thoughts still lodge beneath a furrowed brow. 
And the way-wearied have the sweetest sleep. 

Marvel not at thy life ! — patience shall see 

The perfect work of wisdom to her given ; 

Hold fast thy soul through this high mystery. 

And it shall lead thee to the gates of heaven. 

12m 



TO . 

What recks the sun how weep the heavy flowers 
All the sad night, when he is far away ? 

What recks he how they mourn, through those 
dark hours, 
Till back again he leads the smiling day ? 

As hfts each watery bloom its tearful eye, 
And blesses from its lowly seat, the God, 

In his great glory he goes through the sky, 
And recks not of the blessing from the sod. 

And what is it to thee, oh, thou, my fate ! 

That all my hope and joy remains with thee ? 
That thy departing leaves me desolate. 

That thy returning brings back life to me ? 

(235) 



236 TO . 

I blame not thee, for all the strife and woe, 
That for thy sake daily disturbs my life, 

I blame not thee, that heaven has made me so, 
That all the love I can, is woe and strife. 

I blame not thee, that I may ne'er impart 
The tempest, and the death, and the despair. 

That words and looks of thine make in my heart. 
And, turn by turn, riot and stagnate there. 

Oh ! I have found my sin's sharp scourge in thee, 
For loving thee, as one should love but Heaven ; 

Therefore, oh, thou beloved ! I blame not thee, 
But by my anguish hope to be forgiven. 



EPISTLE FROM THE RHINE. 

TO Y , WITH A BOWL OF BOHEMIAN GLASS. 

From rocky hills, where climbs the vine ; 
Where on his waves the wandering Rhine 
Sees imaged ruins, towns and towers, 
Bare mountain scalps, green forest bowers. 
From that broad land of poetry. 
Wild legend, noble history. 
This token many a day bore I, 
To lay it at your feet, dear Y . 

Little the stupid bowl will tell 

Of all that on its way befell, 

Since from old Frankfort's free domain. 

Where smiling vineyards skirt the Main, 

It took its way ; what sunsets red 

Their splendors o'er the mountains shed, 

(237) 



238 EPISTLE FEOM THE EHINE. 

How the blue Taunus' distant height 

Like hills of fire gave back the light, 

And how, on river, rock, and skj. 

The sun declined so tenderly, 

That o'er the scene white moonlight fell. 

Ere we had bid the day farewell. 

From Maintz, where many a warrior priest 

Was wont of yore to fight and feast. 

The broad stream bore us down its tide. 

Till where upon its steeper side. 

Grim Ehrenfels, with turrets brown, 

On Hatto's wave-worn tower looks down. 

Here did we rest, — my dearest Y , 

This bowl could all as well as I, 
Describe that scene, when in the deep, 
Still, middle night, all wrapped in sleep, 
The hamlet lone, the dark blue sky, 
The eddying river sweeping by. 
Lay 'neath the clear unclouded light 
Of the full moon : broad, brimming, bright. 
The glorious flood went rolling by 
Its world of waves, while silently 



EPISTLE FKOM THE EHINE. 239 

The shaggy hills, on either side, 
Watched like huge giants bj the tide. 
From where the savage bishop's tower 
Obstructs the flood, a sullen roar 
Broke on the stillness of the night, 
And the rough waters, jeasty white, 
Foamed round that whirlpool dread and deep, 
Where still thy voice is heard to weep, 
Gisela ! maiden most unblest. 

Thou Jeptha's daughter of the West ! 

Who shall recall the shadowy train 
That, in the magic Hght, my brain 
Conjured upon the glassy wave. 
From castle, convent, crag, and cave ? 
Down swept the Lord of Allemain, 
Broad-browed, deep-chested Charlemagne, 
And his fair child, who tottering bore 
Her lover o'er the treacherous floor 
Of new-fallen snow, that her small feet 
Alone might print that tell-tale sheet, 
Nor other trace show the stern guard. 



240 EPISTLE FROM THE RHINE. 

The nightly path of Eginhard. 
What waving plumes and banners past, 
With trumpet clang and bugle blast, 
And on the night-wind faintly borne, 
Strains from that mighty hunting-horn. 
Which through these woods, in other days 
Startled the echoes of the chase. 
On trooped the vision ; lord and dame. 
On fiery steed and palfrey tame. 
Pilgrims, with palms and cockle shells, 
And motley fools, with cap and bells. 
Princes and Counties Palatine, 
Who ruled and revelled on the Rhine, 
Abbot and monk, with many a torch. 
Came winding from each convent porch, 
And holy maids from Nonnenwerth, 
In the pale moonhght all came forth ; 
Thy love, Roland, among the rest. 
Her meek hands folded on her breast, 
Her sad eyes turned to heaven, where thou 
Once more shalt hear love's early vow. 
That vow, which led thee home again 



EPISTLE FROM THE EHINE. 241 

From Roncesvalles' bloody plain, 
That vow, that ne'er again was spoken 
Till death the nun's drear oath had broken. 
Down from each crumbling castle poured, 
Of ruthless robber-knights, the horde, 
Sweeping with clang and clamor by. 
Like storm-cloud rattling through the sky : 
Pageant so glorious ne'er, I ween. 
On lonely river bank was seen. 

So passed that night : but with the day 

The vision melted all away ; 

And wrapped in sullen mist and rain, 

The river bore us on again. 

With heavy hearts and tearful eyes, 

That answered well the weeping skies 

Of autumn, which now hung o'er all 

The scene their leaden, dropping pall. 

Beneath whose dark gray veils, once more 

We hailed our native Albion's shore. 

Our pilgrimage of pleasure o'er. 



SONNET. 

Though thou return unto the former things, 
Fields, woods, and gardens, where thy feet have 

strayed 
In other days, and not a bough, branch, blade 
Of tree, or meadow, but the same appears 
As when thou lovedst them in former years. 
They shall not seem the same ; the spirit brings 
Change from the inward, though the outward be 
E'en as it was, when thou didst weep to see 
It last, and spak'st that prophecy of pain, 
" Farewell ! I shall not look on ye again ! " 
And so thou never didst — no, though e'en now 
Thine eyes behold all they so loved of yore. 
The Thou that did behold them then, no more 
Lives in this world, it is another Thou. 

(242) 



SONNET. 

Like one who walketh in a plenteous land, 
By flowing waters, under shady trees. 
Through sunny meadows, where the summer 
bees 
Feed in the thyme and clover ; on each hand 
Fair gardens lying, where of fruit and flower 
The bounteous season hath poured out its dower: 
Where saflron skies roof in the earth with hght. 
And birds sing thankfully towards Heaven, while 

he 
With a sad heart walks through this jubilee. 
Beholding how beyond this happy land, 
Stretches a thirsty desert of gray sand. 
Where all the air is one thick, leaden blight. 
Where all things dwarf and dwindle, — so walk I, 
Through my rich, present hfe, to what beyond 
doth lie. 

f243) 



SONNET. 

Art thou already weary of the way ? 

Thou who hast yet but half the way gone o'er ; 

Get up, and hft thy burthen : lo, before 
Thy feet the road goes stretching far away. 
If thou already faint, who hast but come 
Through half thy pilgrimage, with fellows gay. 
Love, youth, and hope, under the rosy bloom 
And temperate airs, of early breaking day ; 
Look yonder, how the heavens stoop and gloom. 
There cease the trees to shade, the flowers to 

spring. 
And th' angels leave thee ; what wilt thou become 
Through yon drear stretch of dismal wandering, 
Lonely and dark? I shall take courage, friend, 
For comes not every step more near the end ? 

(244) 



ARRIVAL m ROME. 

Early in life, when hope seems prophecy, 

And strong desire can sometimes mould a fate, 

My dream was of thy shores, oh, Italy ! 

Of thy blue deep, that even for awhile 

Will not forsake its spicy pine-girt beaches ; 

Of the unuttered glories of thy sky. 

Of the unnumbered beauties of thy earth. 

And all the immortal memories, that rest 

For ever like an atmosphere above thee. 

Thus towards the south my spirit's flight was 

turned. 
For ever with the yearning of one born there. 
And nursed upon its warm and fragrant bosom ; 
Awhile the sunny dream shut out all else, 
And filled the horizon of my contemplations. 
Slowly, and by degrees, the toiling years, 

(245) 



246 ARRIVAL IN ROME. 

Breathed o'er the bright illusion, dimming it, — 

And gathered close about me sterner things. 

The graceful lines, the gorgeous hues, the forms 

Of grandeur and of beauty that my thoughts 

Had dwelt amidst, as in their proper home. 

Melted and faded — ^broke, dissolved away. 

Till the last, lovely, Hngering trace had vanished. 

And I forgot to hope it might return. 

Across an ocean — not thy sapphire waves. 

Oh, Mediterranean, sea of memories ! 

But the dark marble ridges of th' Atlantic, 

Destiny led me — not to thy bright shores, 

Ausonia, but that wondrous wilderness. 

That other world, where Hope supreme beholds 

AU things unshaped — one huge eventful promise. 

Ah, not to thee, thou treasure-house of Art, 

Thou trophy-loaded Temple of the Past, 

Hung with triumphant spoils of all the ages ! 

But to that land where Expectation stands. 

An former things behind her — and before 

The unfathomed brightness of Futurity, 

Rolling its broad waves to the feet of God. 



ARRIVAL IN ROME. 247 

Upon that distant shore, a dream more fair 

Than the imaginations of my youth 

Awhile entranced me ; Hghtning-like it fled, 

And I remained utterly desolate. 

Love had departed ; Youth, too, had departed ; 

Hope had departed ; and my hfe before me 

Lay covered with the ashes of the Past, — 

Dark, barren, cold, drear, flinty, colorless. 

As through the cheerless gray of waning night. 

When its black veils wear thin and part like film, 

Beautiful light, like hfe begins to glow, . 

And the great picture of the earth is sketched 

Faintly upon the canvas of the dark. 

Brighter and brighter growing, as the day 

Holds its great torch against God's masterpiece, 

Till the whole work in perfect glory shines : 

So rose once more that southern vision's splendor 

Upon the cheerless twihght of my fate ; 

The last grim pages of my book of hfe, 

Filled with a mean and grinding martyrdom, 

"Washed with unceasing tears at length gave back 

The nobler legend written on my youth. 



248 ARRIVAL m ROME. 

Again, again, the glowing shapes returned ; 
Again, the lovely lines like magic drew me ; 
Again the splendor of the southern heavens 
Shed rosy light and golden glories round me. 
And Art and Nature, twins immortal, stood 
Upon the threshold of earth's Paradise, 
And waved me towards it. And at last I came, — 
But with a broken heart and tear-dimmed eyes. 
And such a woful weight of misery laden, 
As well might challenge the great ministry 
Of the whole universe, to comfort it. 
Thus did I seek thy shores, oh, Italy ! 
Land — not of promise — but of consolation ; 
Not in that season of my life, when Hfe 

Itself was rich enough for all its need, 

• 

And I yet held its whole inheritance ; 
But in the bankrupt days when all is spent. 
Bestowed, or stolen, wasted, given away. 
To buy a store of bitter memories : 
In the first hour of lengthening evening shadows. 
When Resolution on life's summit stands. 
Looks back on all its brightness, and looks for- 
ward 



IMPROMPTU. 249 

Through gathering downward darkness to the grave. 
Hail, then, most fair, most glorious, long desired — 
Long dreamed of — hoped for — ^Italj, hail ! hail ! 
I kiss thy earth, weeping with joy, to think 
That I, at last, stand on thy sacred soil. 



IMPEOMPTU. 

Sorrow and sin, and suffering and strife, 

Have been cast in fhe waters of my life ; 

And they have sunk deep down to the well-head. 

And all that flows thence is embittered. 

Yet still the fountain up towards heaven springs, 

And still the brook where'er /it wanders sings ; 

And still where'er it hath found leave to rest, 

The blessed sun looks down into its breast ;. 

And it reflects, as in a mirror fair. 

The image of all beauty shining there. 

17 



LINES. 

Upon the altar of my life there lies 
A costly offering : its price I know ; 
The worth that it might have, its power and 

beauty ; 
Yet it lies there, and darkness covers it. 
It has not burned towards heaven in holy flames. 
Worshipping God, warming and hghting man ; 
No fire has quickened it. — Love, like a torch 
Quenched in foul mist, passed over it in vain : 
A flickering ray of pale uncertain happiness 
Played round it once, too weak to kindle it. 
Strike, strike then now, ye lightning fires of 

sorrow ! 
Devouring flames ! ye that have all consumed 
Love, Hope, and Happiness, do your whole work ! 
Light up the gifts that lie on my fife's altar, 

(250) 



LIFE. 251 

Kindle the precious sacrifice my soul 

Has heaped in vain : so shall it burn towards 

heaven, 
And glorify the Giver of all gifts, 
The Sender of all earthly destinies. 



LIFE. 

At morn — a mountain ne'er to be climbed o'er, 
A horn of plenty, lengthening evermore ; 
At noon — the countless hour-sands pouring fast. 
Waves that we scarce can see as they run past; 
At night— a pageant over ere begun, 
A course not even measured and yet run, 
A short mysterious tale — suddenly done. 
At first — a heap of treasure, heaven-high ; 
At last — a faihng purse, shrunk, lean, and beg- 
garly. 



LINES ON THE ANIO AT TIVOLI. 

One river from the mountain springs was born, 
Into three several streams its course was torn. 
For one a rojal path was made, it ran, 
Sheltered and screened, through channels paved 

by man ; 
A noble flood, a bounteous, beauteous river. 
In light and glory rolling forth for ever. 
One, to the children of the earth became 
A slave unwilling, bound, but never tame. 
Round lashing wheels its silver foam was spread. 
Through murky chambers its bright waves were 

led. 
Dread clangor of huge engines drowned its voice. 
At its dark work forbidden to rejoice ; 
Close by its fiery foe its white waves boil, 
Fierce ruddy flames beside it glow and toil, 

(252^ 



LINES ON THE ANIO AT TIVOLI. 253 

Striving and laboring, panting, rushing past. 
All stained and sullied it leaps free at last. 
And down the huge cHffs with one shouting bound 
Joins its fair sister on the level ground 
Of a green valley. One sad stream was led 
By God, not man, through chasms dark, drear, 

and dread : 
Horrible depths ne'er visited by light. 
Caves of despair, dismay, and thickest night ; 
There in an agony the lonely river 
Leapt down, and turned, and writhed, and plunged 

for ever ; 
Seeking escape from out the hideous deep. 
Where its wild waters were condemned to weep ; 
But this tormented stream too found its way, 
At length to the sweet air of upper day ; 
And altogether they flow down to rest 
One with the other in the Ocean's breast. 
So ends all life that is but mortal breath, — 
All fates are equal in the lap of Death. 



THE SIREN'S CAVE AT TIVOLI. 

As o'er the chasm I breathless hung, 
Thus from the depths the Siren sung 
" Down, down into the womb 
Of earth, the daylight's tomb, 

Where the sun's eyes 

Never may shine, 

Nor fair moon rise 

With smile divine ; . 

Where caverns yawn 

Black as despair, 

Fatally drawn 

I plunge down there ; 

And with the bound 

The rocks resound. 

And round and round 

My waves are wound 

(254) 



THE siren's cave AT TIVOLI. 255 

Into the gaping rifts of the mid earth : 
Oh, for the sunny springs where I took birth! 
The gentle rills, 
The tiny brimming fountain. 
That, scooped in the warm bosom of the 

mountain. 
Each May shower over-fills ! 
Whence I and my fair sister came ; and she 
Rolls her smooth silver flood along the way. 
That princes made for her, so royally, 
Piercing the rock to give her ample sway. 
Down the bright sunny steep 
Her waters leap, 
Myrtle, and bay, and laurel, and wild vine, 
A garland for her flowing tresses twine ! 
The green moss stars the rocks whereon she 

leaps, 
Over her breast the fragrant locust weeps ; 
The air resounds with her wild shouts of laughter, 
The echoes of the hills in chorus after 
Repeat the sound, and in her silvery spray 
Rainbows are woven by the light of day ! 



256 THE siren's cave at tivoli. 

Down in the valley she springs 

And sings, 
And the sky bends over 
Her, like a lover ; 
And glittering and sparkling her waters run, 
A bright sea of snow in the summer sun ! 

Darkness broods over me the while ; 
Grim rocks that sweat 
With my cold clammy spray, 
As down the hopeless way 
In one wild jet 
My tortured billows lash, and leap, and boil; 
So deep my bed of darkness lies. 
That scarce the voice of my great agony 
Reaches the skies. 
And all ye see 
With fearful eyes 
Who question me. 
Is the gray whirhng mist that covers all 
As with a pall. 



THE SIEEN'S cave AT TIVOLI. 257 

Light ! light upon the rocks ! sudden and fierce 
The sharp flames pierce ; 
Glaring upon my water 
Like the blood-hue of slaughter 
A red torch flashes ; ' 
As down my wild flood dashes 
Wide flaring brightness streams upon my foam, 
And flaming fire-wreaths come 
Hissing into my waves to find their doom 
In the same blackness that devours me. 
The huge rocks grin, as with a sudden glee. 
At this strange visitation of the light, 
And they are made not beautiful, but bright. 
As all their horrid piles and masses show. 

Hanging above, and heaped below, 

Searched by the ruddy glow. 
Oh, let me still in darkness dwell ! 

Not in this hell 

Of lurid light, 

That scares the night. 

Hence with the leaping glare. 

Whose fiery stare 



258 THE siren's cave at tivoli. 

Reveals the secrets of my dismal bed ; 
Hence with the voices that profane the dread 
Of my dark chambers ! " — thus the Siren cried, 
As o'er the rocky chasm's black hideous side 
I hung entranced with terror and dismay, — 
And at that piteous cry I fled away. 



HADRIAN'S VILLA. 

Let us stay here : nor ever more depart 
From this sweet wilderness Nature and Art 
Have made, not for light wandering feet to stray, 
Through their fair chaos half one sunny day ; 
But for th' abiding place of those whose spirit 
Is worthy all this beauty to inherit. 
Pervading sunlight vivifies the earth. 
The fresh green thickets rock, as though in mirth, 
Under its warmth, and shaken by the breeze. 
That springs down into them from waving trees, 
Whose dark blue branches spread themselves on 

high, 
On granite shafts, that seem to prop the sky. 
Around, a rocky screen the mountains spread, 
Wood-mantled to their middle, but each head 
Gray, bare, and bald, save where a passing veil, 
Vaporous, and silvery soft, the low clouds trail 

(259) 



260 Hadrian's villa. 

Over their craggy brows : — down their steep sides 
The hght procession of fleet shadow ghdes, 
Garlands of melting gloom, that join and sever, 
And climb, and then run down the hills for ever. 
Like rapid outspread wings, flying away 
Before the golden shafts of the bright day. 
Turn from the rocky wall, and lo ! a sea 
Of level land, like an eternity. 
Spreads its vast plain beneath the hazy light, 
Till far, far on th' horizon's edge, one bright 
And blinding streak betrays the distant verge. 
Where earth and ocean in each other merge. 
Look from this promontory made of ruin. 
Through whose brown broken arches the soft wooing 
Of the Spring air in murmurs low is heard. 
Answering the voice of that triumphant bird. 
Who, hid 'mid fragrant wreaths of hawthorn bloom. 
Sings loud and sweet, here, in this wondrous tomb 
Of the earth's greatness : — ^look below, around. 
Above, — survey this magic sky and ground ; 
These crumbling arches, that blue vault of heaven, 
These pillars, and these friezes, fallen or riven 



Hadrian's villa. 261 

From their stone sockets ; those fair cypress trees, 
Those vine and ivy garlands, Nature's frieze ; 
These graceful fragments, over which she flings 
The still fresh mantle of a thousand Springs; 
Hear from it all the strange and solemn story, 
Decay and Death reaping all human glory. 
Ho, Adrian! Emperor, Conqueror, Priest, and 

Lord ! 
Who the great Roman world swayedst with a 

word ! 
Thou who didst cast off power without measure. 
To dwell in joy, possessing only pleasure ! 
The wild bee hums in the wild wreaths of thyme 
That carpet o'er thy halls and courts sublime ; 
The nightingale, sweet single chorister. 
Fills the void circle of thy theatre. 
And northern pilgrims, with slow lingering feet. 
Stray round each vestige of thy loved retreat. 
And spend in homage half one sunny day 
Before they pass upon their wandering way, 
Leaving thy royal ruin of delight 
Lordly and lonely, lovely, sad, and bright. 



THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN. 

We are the ghosts of those small flowers, 

That in the opening of the year, 
'Neath rosemary and myrtle bowers, 
' In crimson vests appear. 

Far, underneath the blue pine wood. 
Between its massive porphyry stems, 

The mossy ground we overstrewed 
With ruby-colored gems. 

The slender heath spires o'er us waved 
Their lordly snow-white feathers fine. 

And round our feet the earth was paved 
With sheddings of the pine. 

(262) 



THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN. 263 

The flower Apollo loved, its bloom 

In rosy bunches o'er us spread, 
And heavy hanging golden broom 

Deep golden shadows shed. 

Above, around, and underneath, 

The aromatic air was filled 
With the wild sweetness of our breath. 

Like honey-combs distilled. 

The spring breeze flying towards the sea 
Entranced, remained, and o'er us hung ; 

And in our cups the soft brown bee 
Bending our blossoms swung. 

The blue sea sang to us a deep, 

Sonorous, solemn, melody ; 
The sun stooped 'neath the boughs to peep 

At our fair company. 

And you went by ; in your white hand 
Was many a slender, brittle stem, 



264 THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN. 

That you had gathered from our band ; 
We wished we were with them. 

Now, here we are a ghostly train ; 

Who, in the closing of the year, 
From the dark earth-cells rise again, 

And sadly do appear. 

The red hues of our coronal. 

All pale and wintry white have grown ; 
Our leaves, in wild disorder, all. 

By the rough winds are blown. 

The sunbeams faint, and thin, and chill. 
Look at us through dark walls of cloud. 

And o'er the gray ridge of the hill. 
The storm howls fierce and loud. 

'Neath many a black green ivy wreath. 
Steeped in the cold and glittering showers. 

We send a faint and scentless breath. 
Through gloomy laurel bowers. 



THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN. 265 

The hard pine-cones come shaken down, 
Bruising us, where we clustered grow, 

Brown, thorny, wild-brier arms are thrown 
Across our breasts of snow.. 

The threatening thunder heavily 

Rolls through the darkening realms of space ; 
And in the lightning glares we see 

Each other's wet, wan face. 

We are the ghosts of those gay flowers, 
That in your soft white hand you bore ; 

And soon the cheerless wintry bowers 
Will see e'en us no more. 



18 



A ROOM m THE VILLA TAVERNA. 

Three windows cheerfullj poured in the light : 
One from the east, where o'er the Sabine hills 
The sun first rose on the great Roman plain, 
And shining o'er the garden, with its fountains, 
Vine-trellises, and heaps of rosy bloom. 
Struck on the glittering laurel-trees, that shone 
With burnished golden leaves against my lattice. 
One towards the north, close-screened with a dark 

wall 
Of bay and ilex, with tall cypress-shafts, 
Piercing with graceful spires the limpid air, 
Like delicate shadows in transparent water. 
One towards the west — above a sunny green. 
Where merry black-eyed Tusculan maidens laid 
The tawny woof to bleach between the rays 
Of morning light and the bright morning dew. 

(266) 



A ROOM IN THE VILLA TAVERNA. 267 

There spread the graceful balustrade, and down 
Swept the twin flights of steps, with their stone 

vases, 
And thick-leaved aloes, like a growth of bronze. 
To the broad court, where, from a twihght cell, 
A Naiad, crowned with tufts of trembling green. 
Sang towards the sunny palace all day long. 



THE LANDGRAFF, 

Through Thuringia's forest green, 
The Landgraff rode at close of e'en, 
Huntsmen and hounds were left behind. 
While following fierce a dappled hind ; 
And though the day grew thick apace, 
The brave steed distanced in the chase, 
Still by his rider urged amain. 
While dayhght served, to reach the plain. 
Sped through the mazes of the wood ; 
The crimson light Hke drops of blood 
Sprinkled upon the foliage lay ; 
And through green arches far away. 
Some sudden gaps let in the Hght, 
And made the rough old tree-trunks bright. 
Fast sped the steed, but still more fast 
The fiery steeds of heaven sped on ; 

(268) 



THE LANDGRAFP. 269 

Oak, glade, and hazel copse flew past. 

But tlie red sunlight all was gone : 
Twilight's dim shadows gathered round, 
With light departed every sound ; 
The sudden strain of some late bird 
From the high boughs no more was heard ; 
And save the thundering hoofs that ring 
Along the path, and fluttering wing 
Of bats low flying throuhg the gray. 
Deep solemn silence sealed the day: 
One after one, the twisted form 

Of each huge chestnut-tree grew dim, 
And with the blackness of a storm. 

The coming night looked wild and grim. 
With slower step, and head bent low. 
The gallant steed went forward now ; 
Quoth the good Landgraff", in his mind, 
" To-night we shall no shelter find. 
But thou and I, old horse, shall lie 

Beneath the oak tent of the wood ; 
Keen hunter, even of lineage high. 

Finds red-brown moss a pillow good." 



270 THE LANDGRAFF. 

Just then, a sudden ruddy glare, 

Streamed from the forest depths of green ; 
The Landgraff gave a lusty cheer. 

Well pleased the light to see, I ween ; 
And with a hopeful snort, the steed 
Sprang on with fresh-awakened speed. 
From a low smithy lined with light. 
The red glow poured upon the night ; 
And that which, when beheld afar, 
Shone like a friendly twinkling star. 
Searched every nook and cranny round ; 
Showed each brown leaf upon the ground ; 
Each ivy snake's fine hairy feet, 

CHmbing the pine-shafts gray and stern — 
Great golden oak-boughs spread and meet 

Above a sea of golden fern ; 
The foaming brook all glancing bright. 

In golden waves went rolling by ; 
From the low roof a jet of light 

Sprang upwards to the murky sky : 
The fierce flames roared, the bellows blew, 
Round a red rain of fire-sparks flew ; 



THE LAND GRAFF. 271 

The sweat fell from the stout smith's brow, 

And ever with each stalwart blow, 

He cried, " Oh, Landgraff, grow thou hard ! " — 

Amazed, the wondering Landgraff heard ; 

And stepping forth out of the night 

Into the smithy's ruddy light. 

He and his horse together stood. 

Like shadowy demons of the wood. 

" Good friend," quoth he, " I've lost my way, 

Here in the forest, and I pray 

That thou wilt suffer me to rest. 

Till by the sky I guess the east ? " 

The toil-worn workman wiped his brow ; 

He pointed to a settle low. 

And to his humble pallet bed : — 

" To all I have, welcome ! " he said — 

" Thy horse must stable in the wood ; 

The water of the brook is good ; 

Here is the black loaf that I eat, 

To work and weariness 'tis sweet." 

And then, without another word, 

He cried, " Oh, Landgraff, grow thou hard ! " — 



272 THE LANDGRAFF. 

And struck the iron bar amain — 

The furious sparks flew forth again ;. 

And thus he wrought, and thus he prayed. 

Till the stout bar of iron made ; 

He paused awhile, with panting breast. 

And sat him down beside his guest, 

Who cried, " Good friend, I prithee say, 

Wherefore thus strangely thou dost pray ?. " 

" Oh, sir," replied the brawny man, 

" To pray and pray is all we can ; 

Our Earl is good, may God reward 

His gentleness, and make him hard ; 

He loves the poor, he grinds us not ; 

He leaves us all a peaceful lot. 

And were there none between his grace 

And the poor vassal's down-trod race, 

His people's were a blessed case : 

But between us poor men and him, 

A tribe of barons, hard and grim, 

Harrow and drive, and strip and spoil, 

The wretched tillers of the soil ; 

And the great God, who out of heaven 



THE LANDGEAFF. 273 

The charge of us, his poor, hath given 

To princes, ^yho our rights should guard, 

Make towards these fiends our LandgrafF hard ; 

And save us through his mighty hand 

From these destroyers of the land : 

Because our Earl is mild and good, 

This greedy, bloody, wolfish brood 

Make us a people most ill-starred, 

So, great God, make our Landgrafi" hard ! " 

They both sat silent, while the brook 

With rippling voice the burden took. 

And seemed to echo back the word, 

" Oh, great God, make our Landgrafi* hard ! "— 

" Hast thou no wife, hast thou no child 

To cheer thee in this forest wild ? " — 

" I had two children and a wife," 

The smith replied, " to cheer my life — 

I saw my boy borne past my door 

Bound to a stag all streaming gore. 

Followed by devihsh men and hounds. 

Because within the forest bounds 

Of Eavenstein a fawn he found, 



274 THE LANDGRAFF. 

And lifted dying from the ground. 
A forester of Ravenstein 

Strove with him once, and fared the worse, 
And sware that luckless boy of mine 

Should hve that fatal fray to curse. 
I saw him hunted through the wood. 
And tracked him by the streaks of blood, 
To where the fern banks hide the river ; 
But after that I saw him — never. 
I had a daughter, — Grod be praised ! 

She to a distant town is gone, 
A fair, fair girl ! " — His head he raised 

And wiped the big tears, one by one, 
From his brown face — " To let her go 
I was right glad — 'twas better so. 
The wicked Lord of Falconsheight 

Met her one morning by the brook ; 

She told her mother of his look 
And loathsome words, as wild with fright 
She fled away ; that very night, 
Like God's good angel, through the glade 
A young companion of my trade 



THE LANDGRAFF. 275 

Came travelling by — short time he stayed, 

And when he went, took hence the maid. 

We gave our darling child to him, 

And saved her so from shame." — The dim 

Red embers on the anvil showed 

The fierce and fiery flush that glowed 

Over the swart smith's knotted brow: 

" Their mother pined away — and now, 

I am alone ; " he said, and rose — 

Fast flew the sparks, fast fell the blows, 

But neither said another word, 

Save as the hammer fell with might. 

From time to time, through the whole night 

The prayer : " Oh, make our Landgrafi" hard ! " 

The daylight dawned ; the Landgrafi" rode 

From the smith's cottage in the wood, 

And through Thuringia, far and wide, 

From that day forth was checked the pride 

Of the fierce barons, — while the poor, 

From wrong and cruelty secure. 

Praised the good Earl, whose just command 

With might and mercy ruled the land. 



THE FELLOWSHIP OF GENIUS. 

Oh, hearts of flesli ! Oh, beating hearts of love ! 

Oh, twining hands of human dear desire !— 
How, when your glorious mate begins to move. 

How shall ye follow those wide wings of fire 
That bear him up ? Ah ! to the chariot wheels. 

That wrap the child of genius to the sky, 
Breathless ye cling till round the great world 
reels, 

And ye fall fainting down despairingly ! 
Bleeding and blind ye fall, and still his flight. 
Serene and strong, is upward to the hght, 
Nearer the sun and further yet from ye. 
Kindred alone of his mortality. 
Awhile he stood beside ye, and awhile 
His tender eyes, and lovely loving smile, 

(276) 



THE FELLOWSHIP OF GENIUS. 277 

Made you believe he was indeed your brother : 
But deep within that being lay another 
Fearful as fair, no simple son of earth, 
Of all created things the wondrous birth ; 
Immortal, Infinite, born to inherit 
Matter, and mind, and sense, and subtlest spirit. 
Lo ! ye have called this King of all creation 
Your fellow, and forgot the heaven-high station 
Whence he must gather his great revenue : 
Past, Present, Future, all things old and new, 
All things in earth and heaven to him belong ; 
And in the paeans of his conquering song 
Love is but one sweet sound, one single verse. 
In the great chorus of the universe ; 
Which, with a voice resounding and sublime, 
He utters forth unto all space and time. 
Oh, piteous, precious, hapless, human love! 
Thou shalt be reaped by this bright son of Jove. 
One flower 'mid the whole harvest of the world — 
And when his mighty wings are gently furled. 
Upon his heart thou shalt lie tenderly ; 
But when the summons of his destiny 



278 



SONNET. 



Calls to him through the ages to awake, 

One heavenward sprmg the drooping bud shall 

shake 
Back to the earth, where it shall withering lie 
In the broad light of Immortality. 



SONNET. 

If there were any power in human love, 
Or in th' intensest longing of the heart, 
Then should the oceans and the lands that part 

Ye from my sight all unpre vailing prove. 

Then should the yearning of my bosom bring 
Ye here, through space and distance infinite ; 

And life 'gainst love should be a baffled thing, 
And circumstance 'gainst will lose all its might. 

Shall not a childless mother's misery 

Conjure the earth with such a potent spell — 
A charm so desperate — as to compel 

Nature to yield to her great agony? 
Can I not think of ye till ye arise, 
Alive, alive, before my very eyes ? 



GENIUS AND LOVE. 

Genius and Love together stood 

At break of day beside clear fountains. 
In gardens hedged with laurel wood, 

Screened by a wall of purple mountains ; 
As hand in hand they smiHng strayed, 

Love twined a wreath of perfect roses 
On Genius' brow, "And thus," he said, 

" My soul on thy bright soul reposes." 
And round and round they joyous flew. 

On rapid now, now lingering pinion. 
And bhssful Love ne'er weary grew 

Of measuring o'er his bright dominion. 
Anon they rested from their flight. 

And through the fringes of clear water, 
All rainbow-touched Love chased a sprite. 

The silver Naiad's snowy daughter, 

(279) 



280 GENIUS AND LOVE. 

While Genius lay with flashing eyes, 

Looking into the distant skies. 

Love paused and said, " What dost thou see ? " 

" The far-off shining of the sea — 

Say, wilt thou thither fly with me ? " 

" Is there a home by the wild flood ? 

Ah, leave we not our pleasant wood ! " 

But suddenly, with eager wings, 

Towards his desire Genius springs ; 

So strong his flight, the rosy crown 

At Love's sad feet fell broken down. 

And lay beside him where he sate, 

Waiting the. coming of his mate : 

And he returned all gloriously. 

From the foam-caverns of the sea. 

And brought strange heaps of shining treasure 

To Love, who prized beyond all measure 

His mere return : — And now his sight, 

Swift as the eagle's sunward flight. 

Rested upon the mountain's height — 

" Look ! wilt thou thither with me fly. 

Dear Love ? " — ^he cried ; and rapidly 



GENIUS AND LOVE. 281 

Beat with his golden wings the air. 
" Is there a home for us up there ? 
What seek'st thou on the mountain's brow ? " 
" To see the wide world lie below." 
So he swept thither like the wind, 
And Love remained dismayed behind : 
And now a spirit of the air 
Garlands of noble amaranth bare 
To the Love god beside the fountain, 
And spake — " Lo ! Genius from the mountain 
Sends thee, dear Love, eternal flowers, 
To deck thy pleasant myrtle bowers." 
" Ah I " answered Love, despondingly, 
" Sweet roses would have done for me ; 
Look, they grow here upon the ground, 
Close to our very home, all round. 
And morn and even may be found — 
When comes he back ? " " Into the sky 
I saw him from the mountain fly 
Higher and higher towards the sun." 
Love sighed, " The day must soon be done, 
And evening shall the wanderer bring, 
19 



282 GENIUS AND LOVE. 

With sated soul and wearj wing." 

Love knew not that bold Genius' flight 

Had passed the realms of day and night, 

Till, from the blue, a glorious crown 

Of starry light was towards him thrown ; 

He saw th' immortal circlet burn. 

And knew his mate would ne'er return : 

He gathered up the rosy wreath. 

With withered leaves, and faint sweet breath 

And turning to the darkening skies 

The tender longing of his eyes. 

He bitterly began to weep, 

And wept himself at last to sleep. 



THE IDEAL. 

Thou shalt behold it once, and once believe 
Thou may'st possess it — Love shall make the 

dream, 
Impossible and glorious, palpable seem, 
And with the bhss thy soul awhile deceive—- 
When from that trance thou wakest, never more 
On earth hope for it, or thy Hfe is o'er ; 
That one approach of the Divinity 
Is but the pledge of thy affinity. 
That lovely vision shall not be renewed, 
Though through all forms of being close pursued ; 
The light must pass into the heavens above thee, 
Thy polar star, to warn and lead and move thee. 
If thou seek lower for it thou shalt follow 
A fatal marsh-fire, fleeting, false, and hollow ; 

(283) 



284 PAST HOURS. 

Unto the glorious truth thou shalt not soar, 
But sink in darkness down for evermore. 
Not to behold it once, is not to hve. 
But to possess it, is not hfe's to give. 



PAST HOURS. 

Two angels have them in eternal keeping. 

He that beside the deep vaults of the past 
Stands to receive the treasures, that with weeping 

And lamentation into them men cast. 
Forgetting that alone they hold that fast 

Which to his marble store-house they commit ; 
And He, that spirit bright and terrible. 

Who at the feet of God doth thoughtful sit, 

Upon whose scroll, in lines of flame are writ 
Each hour of every day of those who dwell 

Upon this earth : He hath those days and hours, 

Which, as they smiled on us, we counted ours ; 
And who, when that great history appears, 
Shall make us answer, as if we were theirs. 



ON A SYMPHONY OF BEETHOVEN. 

Terrible music, whose strange utterance 
Seemed like the spell of some dread conscious 

trance ; 
Motionless misery, impotent despair, 
With beckoning visions of things dear and fair ; 
Restless desire, sharp poignant agonies ; 
Soft, thrilling, melting, tender memories*; 
Struggle and tempest, and around it all, 
The heavy muffling folds of some black pall 
Stifling it slowly; a wild wail for life. 
Sinking in darkness — a short passionate strife 
With hideous fate, crushing the soul to earth ; 
Sweet snatches of some melancholy mirth ; 
A creeping fear, a shuddering dismay. 
Like the cold dawning of some fatal day ; 

(285) 



286 EVENING. 

Dim faces growing pale in distant lands ; 
Departing feet, and slowly severing hands ; 
Voices of love, speaking the words of hate, — 
The mockery of a blessing come too late ; 
Loveless and hopeless life, with memory, — 
This curse that music seemed to speak to me. 



EVENING. 

Now in the west is spread 

A golden bed ; 

Great purple curtains hang around, 

With fiery fringes bound. 

And cushions, crimson red. 

For Phoebus' lovely head ; 

And as he sinks through waves of amber light, 

Down to the crystal halls of Amphitrite, 

Hesper leads forth his starry legions bright 

Into the violet fields of air — Good night ! 



UPON A BRANCH OF FLOWERING ACACIA. 

The blossoms hang again upon the tree, 
As when with their sweet breath they greeted me 
Against my casement, on that smmy morn, 
When thou, first blossom of my spring, wast born, 
And as I lay, panting from the fierce strife 
With death and agony that won thy life, 
Their snowy clusters hung on their brown bough. 
E'en as upon my breast, my May-bud, thou. 
They seem to me thy sisters, oh, my child ! 
And now the air, full of their fragrance mild, 
Recalls that hour ; a tenfold agony 
Pulls at my heart-strings, as I think of thee. 
Was it in vain! Oh, was it all in vain! 
That night of hope, of terror, and of pain. 
When from the shadowy boundaries of death, 
I brought thee safely, breathing living breath 

(287) 



288 UPON A BRANCH OF FLOWERING ACACIA. 

Upon mj heart — it was a holy shrine, 

Full of God's praise — they laid thee, treasure 

mine ! 
And from its tender depths the blue heaven 

smiled, 
And the white blossoms bowed to thee, my child,' 
And solemn joy of a new life was spread, 
Like a mysterious halo round that bed. 
And now how is it, since eleven years 
Have steeped that memory in bitterest tears ? 
Alone, heart-broken, on a distant shore. 
Thy childless mother sits lamenting o'er 
Flowers, which the spring calls from this foreign 

earth. 
Thy twins, that crowned the morning of thy birth. 
How is it with thee — ^lost — lost — precious one ! 
In thy fresh spring-time growing up alone ? 
What warmth unfolds thee ? — what sweet dews 

are shed. 
Like love and patience over thy young head ? 
What holy springs feed thy deep inner hfe ? 
What shelters thee from passion's deadly strife ? 



UPON A BRANCH OF FLOWERING ACACIA. 289 

What guards thy growth, straight, strong, and 

full and free, 
Lovely and glorious, oh, my fair young tree ? 
God — ^Father — thou — who by this awful fate 
Hast lopped, and stripped, and left me desolate ! 
In the dark bitter floods that o'er my soul 
Their billows of despair triumphant roll. 
Let me not be o'erwhelmed ! — Oh, they are thine. 
These jewels of my life — not mine — not mine ! 
So keep them, that the blossoms of their youth 
Shall, in a gracious growth of love and truth. 
With an abundant harvest honor Thee : 
And bless the blight which Thou hast sent on me ; 
Withering and blasting, though it seem to fall. 
Let it not, oh, my Father ! drink up all 
My spirit's sap — so from this fate shall grow 
The palm branch for my hand and for my brow. 
With which, a hopeful pilgrim, I may tread 
The shadowy path where rest awhile the dead. 
Ere they rise up, a glorious company. 
To find their lost ones, and to worship Thee ! 



YERSES ON ROME. 

Oh ! Rome, tremendous, who, beholding thee, 
Shall not forget the bitterest private grief 
That e'er made havoc of one single life ? 
Oh! triple crowned, by glory, faith, and beauty. 
Thine is the tiara which thy priest assumes. 
By conquest of the nations of the earth, 
By spiritual sovereignty o'er men's souls, — 
By universal homage of all memory. 
When at thy capitol's base I musing stand, 
Thy ruined temple shafts rising all round me. 
Masts of the goodhest wreck, 'neath Time's deep 

flood. 
Whose tide shall ne'er rise high enough to cover 

them ; 
Thou comest in thy early strength before me, 

(290) 



VERSES ON ROME. 291 

Fair— stern — thy rapid foot-prints stamped in 

blood ; 
The iron sword clenched in thy hand resistless, 
And helmeted like Pallas, whose great thoughts 
Still made thy counsels as thy deeds victorious. 
Beautiful — terrible — ^looking o'er the earth 
With eyes like shafts of fire, and with a voice 
That uttered doom, calling its ends thy border; 
Eesolute, absolute, steadfast, and most noble ; 
A mistress whom to love was to obey. 
For whom to live was to be prompt to di^e 
Whose favor was the call to sterner duty. 
Whose frown was everlasting ignominy. 
So stand'st thou, Virgin Rome, before mine eyes. 
Type of all heathen national strength and virtue. 

When through the Vatican's sounding halls I stray, 
Thy second sovereignty comes sweeping towards 

me. 
In gold and blood-red splendor borne aloft, 
The color of thy garments still kept fresh, 
With blood of thy confessors and deniers. 



292 VERSES ON ROME. 

Poured for and by thee over the whole earth ; 
So com'st thou, carried in thy insolent meekness 
Upon the shoulders of obedient Emperors, 
Shrouded in clouds of mystic incense, voices 
Of adoration in a thousand tongues. 
Like mingling waters rolling round thy feet ; 
The cross, the sword, the keys, — potent insignia 
Of thy stupendous double majesty, 
Shining amid the hghtnings of those curses 
Which gleam with ominous brightness round thy 

path; 
So sweeps thy second empire, Rome, before me. 
And even now the pageant vanishes 
Out from the portals of the palaces 
Where it hath dwelt so long ; I see the last 
Waving and glancing of its impotent splendor 
And a dim twihght fills the place it filled. 
Twihght of coming night or coming morning 
Who shall decide, save Him who rules them both ? 
And in the doubtful gray, one man alone 
Stands in the place of that great mummery, 
The throne borne on the backs of emperors 



YERSES ON ROME. 293 

Lies at his feet ; and lo ! a ghastly bed, 

Where, 'mid diseases and corruptions loathsome, 

Infirm, decrepit, crippled, impotent. 

Yet bright-eyed with vitality unconquerable, 

At its great heart the ancient faith hes gasping ; 

Beneath his hand a glorious shape springs up, 

From whose bright veins a stream of healing youth 

Is poured into the withered blood-conduits 

Of the bed-ridden Church ; and she arises — 

And they two stand together, and uplift 

That song of praise whose first unearthly sound 

Was the loud death-cry sent from Calvary ; 

Whose sweetness yet shall sound through all the 

world. 
And rise to heaven, whence it shall echo back 
His praise whose service shall be perfect freedom. 
Loveliest and dearest art thou to me, Rome, 
When from the terrace of my sometime home. 
At early morning I behold thee lying. 
All bathed in sunshine far below my feet. 
Upon the ancient, sacred Quirinal, 
Gleam the white palaces and orange gardens, 



294 VERSES ON ROM^. 

Towards which are turned all eyes, are stretched 

all hands, 
Where, guarded round by Faith, and Hope, and 

Love, 
The expectation of the people dwells. 
On the pale azure of the tender sky 
Thy mighty outhne lies hke the huge features 
Of some divine colossal type of beauty ; 
Far to the left, beyond the Angel's tower, 
Eises the temple of the world, and stretch 
The Vatican's glorious arsenals of art. 
Where still abide the immortal gods of Greece, 
Where worship still the tribes of all the earth; 
While from the blue and tufted Doria pines. 
My eye delighted round the horizon wanders 
To where the Falconieri cypress shafts 
Pierce the transparent ether. Close at hand, 
Over the nunnery wall, where, in sweet mockery. 
The bridal flower its silver blossoms spreads, 
Rises a chorus of clear virgin voices. 
Chanting sweet salutations — greetings holy — 
As once did Gabriel to the " blest 'mong women." 



VERSES ON ROME. 295 

No other sound makes vibrate the still air, 
Save the quick beating of the wings of doves, 
That from the sanctuary come to drink 
At the clear dropping fountain in our garden. 
Upon its curving margin they ahght. 
And make alive the graceful image traced 
In the stone painting of the antique artist. 
To me they call a lovelier image up — 
A fair young girl, with shining braided hair, 
And graceful head divine, gently inclined 
Towards her shoulder, where a dove has lighted, 
That with quick glancing eye and beak familiar. 
And soft round head, and swelling purple breast. 
Stands friendly, while the child towards it turns 
Eyes like two streams of liquid light, and lips 
Parted in smiling rosy eagerness. 
Oh, Rome ! I do not see thee any more ; 
This do I see — this loveliest, dearest vision 
But for a moment, and my tears have blotted 
Thy glory and its sweetness out together. 



DESPAIR. 

Whene'ee those forms arise before mj sight, 

E'en as from hideous visions of the night, 

I cover up my eyes, I veil my head, 

I shrink in terror, and dismay, and dread, 

And wave them from me ; and in agony 

Unto the saving feet of God I fly, 

Lest I be scared to madness with the dream 

Of all that I have lost — so that I seem 

To loathe that which I love beyond all measure 

Like to a miser robbed of his dear treasure. 

Clutching for ever a distracting vision 

Of gold and jewels, 'twixt the apparition 

And his real beggary lashed to utter madness. 

If on the midnight void of my deep sadness, 

The dear delusion of your presence shine, 

I fear to look upon ye, treasures mine, 

(296) 



DESPAIR. 297 

Lest the tormented heart and failing brain 
Rest in delirium from too fierce a pain ; 
Change hopeless sorrow for insanity, 
And mental ruin end this misery. 
And it were better — better thus to dwell 
In a mad Heaven, than in a conscious Hell ;. 
Better to lose this lurid hght of reason, 
Which shows me but a dark and empty prison,. 
Oh, come, I will not fly ye any more. 
Come, come, dear fatal visions, and before 
This light of truth, that shows ye are not here^ 
Spread sweet delusions ! Come, I will not fear *. 

Let reason, faith, and fortitude forbear 

Their ministry of torture— hail, despair ! 

And welcome ye, ye long-departed dreams. 

In which, once more, my life a blessing seems ; 

Oh, gracious shapes ! oh, silver ringing voices ! 

At whose dear sound my heart once more rejoices ; 

Oh, floating, glorious braids of sunny hair ! 

Oh, eyes of morning light, keen, soft, and fair I 

Oh, sinless brows of holy innocence ! 

Stay, stay with me, depart not ever hence ; 
20 



298 SCRAPS. 

Shut out all forms of dire reality. 
Beloved phantoms, speak — oh, speak to me 
Sweet words of love — walk ever by my side, 
The hateful witness of all sense denied ; 
Nothing will I behold, naught feel, naught hear, 
Save ye, most precious ! ye alone, most dear ! 
Oh, ye pale ghosts of love and joy, to ye 
I dedicate all that remains of me ! 
I can no more endure, no longer strive. 
Madness from sin shall save my soul ahve. 

SCRAPS. 

Raise it to Heaven, when thine eye fills with tears, 
For only in a watery sky appears 
The bow of light ; and from th' invisible skies 
Hope's glory shines not, save through weeping 
eyes. 



Youth with swift feet walks onward in the way, 
The land of joy hes all before his eyes ; 

Age, stumbling, fingers slower day by day. 
Still looking back, for it behind him lies. 



CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATL 

The end is come : in thunder and wild rain 

Autumn has stormed the golden house of Summer. 

She going — Hngers yet — sweet glances throwing 

Of kind farewell upon the land she loves 

And leaves. No more the sunny landscape glows 

In the intense, uninterrupted light 

And splendor of transparent, cloudless skies ; 

No more the yellow plain its tawny hue 

Of sunburnt ripeness wears ; even at noon 

Thick watery veils fall on the mountain ranges, 

And the white sun-rays, with pale slanting 

brushes, 
Paint rainbows on the leaden-colored storms. 
Through milky, opal clouds the lightning plays, 
Visible presence of that hidden power — 
Mysterious soul of the great universe, 

(299) 



300 CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI. 

Whose secret force runs in red, human veins, 
And in the glaring, white veins of the tempest, 
Uplifts the hollow earth, the shifting sea ; 
Makes stormy reformations in the sky. 
Sweeping, with searching besoms of sharp winds, 
The foul and stagnant chambers of the air. 
Where the thick, heavy, summer vapors slumber ; 
And, working in the sap of all still-growth. 
In moonlight nights, unfolding leaves and blos- 
soms ; 
Of all created life the vital element 
Appearing still in fire — whether in the sea. 
When "its blue waves turn up great swathes of 

stars ; 
Or in the glittering, sparkling, winter ice world ; 
Or in the flickering white and crimson flames. 
That leap in the northern sky ; or in the sparks 
Of love or hate, that flash in human eyes. 
Lo, now, from day to day, and hour to hour. 
Broad verdant shadows grow upon the land, 
Cooling the burning landscape ; while the clouds. 
Disputing with the sun his heaven-dominion. 



CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI. 301 

Chequer the hill-sides with fantastic shadows. 
The glorious unity of light is gone, 
The triumph of those bright and boundless skies ; 
Where, through all visible space, the eye met 

nothing 
Save infinite brightness — glory infinite. 
No more at evening does the sun dissolve 
Into a heaving sea of molten gold ; 
While over it a heaven of molten gold 
Panted, with light and heat intensely glowing, 
While to the middle height of the pure ether, 
One deepening sapphire from the amber spreads. 
Now trains of melancholy, gorgeous clouds. 
Like mourners at an Emperor's funeral. 
Gather round the down-going of the sun ; 
Dark splendid curtains, with great golden fringes, 
Shut up the day ; masses of crimson glory. 
Pale lakes of blue, studded with fiery islands, 
Bright golden bars, cold peaks of slaty rock. 
Mountains of fused amethyst and copper. 
Fierce flaming eyes, with black o'erhanging brows. 
Light floating curls of brown and golden hair. 
And rosy flushes, like warm dreams of love. 



302 CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI. 

Make rich and wonderful the dying day, 

That, like a wounded dolphin, on the shore 

Of night's black waves, dies in a thousand 

glories. 
These are the very clouds that now put out 
The serene beauty of the summer heavens. 
The autumn sun hath virtue yet, to make 
Right royal hangings for his sky-tent of them ; 
But, as the days wear on, and he grows faint, 
And pale, and colorless, these are the clouds 
That, like cold shrouds, shall muffle up the year. 
Shut out the lovely blue, and draw round all — 
Plain, hill, and sky — one still, chill wintry gray. 

The end is come ; the golden Imks are parting. 
That in one chain of happy circumstance, 
And gentle, friendly, human fellowship. 
Bound many hearts for many a day together. 
The precious bond dissolves ; one friend departs 
With the departing summer, and the end. 
Ominous of the loss of all, begins : 
Here it begins ; with these first feet, that turn 
From walking ia the paths of daily life. 




CLOSE OF OUR SUMMER AT FRASCATI. 303 

Where hand in hand, with peace and joy, all 

walked. 
And now, from day to day, and hour to hour. 
The brightness of our summer-life grows dim ; 
The voice that speaks to us from far already. 
Soon in the distance shall be heard no more. 
The perfect circle of this pleasant life 
Hath lost its form — type of eternity — 
And lies upon the earth a broken ring, 
Token and type of every earthly thing. 
Our sun of pleasure hastens towards the west. 
But the green freshness of fair memories 
Lives over these bright days for evermore ; 
The chequered lights, the storms of circumstance. 
Shall sweep between us and their happy hours. 
But not to efface them. Oh, thou wealthy Past, 
Thine are our treasures ! — thine and ours alone 
Through thee : the Present doth in fear rejoice ; 
The Future, but in fantasy : but thou 
Boldest secure for ever and for ever, 
The bliss that has been ours; nor present woe, 
Nor future dread, can touch that heritage 
Of joy gone by — the only joy we own. 



A SUMMONS. 

THE FIRST SNOW MOUNTAIN SEEN PROM A SUNNY HILL- 
SIDE, NEAR ROCCA PRIORI, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1846. 

Look, love, to yonder mountain's brow : 
Seest thou that beckoning hand of snow ? 
Stern Winter dares no further come. 
But waves me towards his northern home. 
The sun upon this glad earth pours 
His blessing, in warm golden showers ; 
Down the steep path, with busy hum. 
The black-eyed sturdy peasants come ; 
Patches of colors bright and gay 
Hang o'er their cheeks of ruddy brown. 
Loud laugh and jest make hght their way, 
From rock-perched hamlets winding down. 
The jogging mule goes clattering light. 
His wooden tubs to seek their freight ; 

(304) 



A SUMMONS. 305 

While others, with their vintage load. 

Strain up the steep and stony road. 

And, all the sunnj paths along. 

Snatches of loud monotonous song 

Come down from hill and up from glade, 

And through the broad-leaved chestnut shade ; 

From vineyards where a merry band 

Pile the ripe treasure of the land. 

Amber and amethyst shining through 

Soft purple bloom and sparkling dew. 

Dark white-veined ghttering ivy, wed 

To wreaths of vine-leaves touched with red, 

Hang from the brown brows of the rocks, — 

A garland meet for Bacchus' s locks. 

The fields, the woods, the air, the ground. 

Smell of the vintage all around. 

And from the sunny earth and sea 

Rises a shout of jubilee. 

From this steep road look down, where grow 
The chestnut forests deep below ; 
Behold how far beneath our feet 



306 A SUMMONS. 

The huge wood billows spread and meet — 
A waving sea of noble trees, 
Rolling their green crests in the breeze ; 
Mark the bright vale, the mountain chain, 
The distant Hues of that great plain. 
Where Rome, eternal Empress, sits 
Beneath the cloudless light, that fits 
The lordliest and the loveliest scene 
Time e'er shall see — Time jet hath seen ! 
Oh, land of glorious memories. 
Oh, land as fair as Paradise, 
Oh, thou beloved, by whom I stand. 
Straining in mine thj kindred hand. 
Farewell ! — on yonder mountain's brow 
I see a beckoning hand of snow ; 
Stern winter dares no nearer come. 
But waves me towards his northern home. 



TOKRE NUOVO. 

The water has flowed fortli a year, 
Since, sitting by the fountain's side, 

We looked into the basin clear, 

Where sparkles still the gushing tide. 

And watched the crystal current pour, 

During one bright enchanting hour. 

The sun sloped low upon the plain — 
The mellow southern winter sun — 

And purple rose the mountain chain, 
Which then I first did look upon ; 

While o'er its shadowy crests were seen 

Bright, dazzling peaks of snowy sheen. 

The limpid heavens o'er our head 

Were clear as truth, and soft as love ; 

(307) 



308 TORRE NUOVO. 

The dark-blue tufted pine-trees spread 
Their solemn shade our rest above. 
And, framed between their pillars gray, 
The landscape's magic pictures lay. 

A year that water hath flowed forth ; 

A year my golden hours have flowed ; 
And towards the regions of the north 

I turn, to leave this blest abode. 
Where I have dwelt in constant joy, 
In peace and rest, without alloy. 

Pain has been far from me, and pleasure 
Has kept , the record of my days ; 

Glory and beauty, without measure, 
Have haunted my familiar ways. 

And made a year's existence seem 

Bright, brief, and wondrous as a dream. 

Now I depart, and bear with me 
The gathered riches of these days ; 



TO PIUS IX. 309 

No shade the sternest futurity 

Upon their perfect brightness lays ; 
Life shall possess them to the last : 
The blackest fate must spare the past. ■ 



TO PIUS IX. 

It may be that the stone which thou art heaving 
From off thy people's neck shall fall and crush 

thee ; 
It may be that the sudden flood shall push thee 

From off the rock, whence, prophet-like, believing 

In God's great future, thou dost set it free ; 
Yet heave it, heave it, heaven high, nor fear 
To be o'erwhelmed in the first wild career 

Of those long-prisoned tides of liberty. 

That stone which thou hast liffcod from the heart 
Of a whole nation shall become to thee 

A glorious monument, such as no art 
E'er piled above a mortal memory : 

Falling beneath it, thou shalt have a tomb 

That shall make low the loftiest dome in Rome. 



A VISION OF THE VATICAN. 

In the great palace halls, where dwell the gods, 
I heard a voice filling the vaulted roof; 
The heart that uttered it seemed sorrow proof, 

And, clarion-Hke, it might have made the clods 
Of the dead valley start to sudden life. 
With such a vigor and a joy 'twas rife. 

And, coming towards me, lo ! a woman past. 
Her face was shining as the morning bright, 
And her feet fell in steps so strong and light, 

I scarce could tell if she trode slow or fast: 
She seemed instinct with beauty and with power. 
And what she sang, dwells with me to this hour. 

" Transfigured from the gods' abode I come, 
I have been tarrying in their awful home ; 
Stand from my path, and give me passage free, 
For yet I breathe of their divinity. 

(310) 



A VISION OF THE VATICAN. 811 

Zeus have I knelt to, solemn and serene, 
And stately Herd, heaven's transcendent queen ; 
PhcEbus's light is on my brow, and fleet, 
As silver-sandalled Artemis', my feet ; 
Graciously smiling, heavenly Aphrodite 
Hath filled my senses with a vague delight; 
And Pallas, steadfastly beholding me, 
Hath sent me forth in wisdom to be free." 

When at the portal, smiling she did turn, 

And, looking back through the vast halls pro- 
found. 
Reechoing with her song's triumphant sound, 

She bowed her head, and said — " I shall return ! " 
Then raised her face, all radiant with delight, 
And vanished, like a vision from my sight. 



DEPARTING. 

Pour we libations to the father, Jove, 
And bid him watch propitious o'er our way ; 
Pile on the household altar fragrant wreaths, 
And to th' auspicious Lares bid farewell, 
Beneath whose guardianship we have abode. 
Blest be the threshold over which we pass. 
Turning again, with hands devout uplifted; 
Blest be the roof-tree, and the hearth it shelters ; 
Blest be the going forth and coming home 
Of those who dwell here ; blest their rising up, 
And blest their lying down to holy slumber ; 
Blest be the married love, sacred and chaste ; 
Blest be the children's head, the mother's heart, 
The father's hope. Beach down the wanderer's 

staff, — 
Tie on the sandals on the traveller's feet : 
The wan-eyed morn weeps in the watery east ; 
Gird up the loins, and let us now depart. 

THE END. 



